


Dear fate: How Dare You?

by Thetimehascome



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Arranged Marriage, Childhood Sweethearts, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Han Jisung | Han/Hwang Hyunjin, Royalty, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:55:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22104418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thetimehascome/pseuds/Thetimehascome
Summary: When Crown Prince Bang “Christopher” Chan was born an alpha, his nation celebrated their luck with a 100 days of festivities.When one year after Prince Lee “know” Minho was born an omega, his nation celebrated for 200.When Minho was 5, he already hated the fiancé that everyone said would take him away one day.When Chan was 6, he felt nothing but resentment at the person who’s existence restricted his life.Starting now once a year, every year, they would meet for two weeks on a small neutral island between their nations.At 20 they will be wed.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Han Jisung | Han/Hwang Hyunjin
Comments: 121
Kudos: 432





	1. Fate abides.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so here is this new fic! I love MinChan dynamics and I felt like this needed to be made. Updates should be about every other week, but the life of a student is never stable so no promises. Anyway Snappy little Minho and Already Old and Tired little Chan are already stealing my heart so I hope they steal yours lol.

The island kingdom of Pascova was prosperous and bright, it glowed like an emerald jewel on the stormy sea.  
The coastal kingdom of Duralin was strong and sturdy, its impenetrable walls carved out of the white stone of the cliffs, parting the waves that crashed at its banks like the towering bow of a mighty ship.  
Pascova depended on its coastal brethren for defense and minerals, while Duralin needed Pascova’s steady food supply and ships.  
Their relationship was mutual, and much desired, but the problems of humanity’s inevitable folly strained their connection.  
The recent attempted invasion by the country north of Duralin, named Thastov, fostered a new sense of urgency for a deeper connection.  
Eventually it became a pressing desire of both nations to strengthen their relations to the point of no return, and there was nothing that made connections like a marriage in the family.

Thus when Durlian’s alpha prince was born but a year before Pascova’s own omega prince, both nations felt nothing less than blessed by the heavens themselves. They had begged, and god had given fortune beyond desert. 

While both boys grew steadily but slowly, as children are so apt to do, both nations held their breath for continued luck.  
By the time both boys were 3 they were known as those whose birth made nations kneel and kiss dirt.  
Blessed, from youth they carried the weight of heaven, and all its expectations, on their back.

But the heavens themselves cannot bend the opinion of a child, for they feel the worlds chains like paper, boundless and reckless as one who knows no absolute truths.  
Thus while their nation held their breaths and wiped their eyes in preparation for a great joy, each boy felt only dread grow at the thought of their long anticipated meeting.

“He is a boy of hair so blond it looks silver in the light, Minho. Like nothing you’ve ever seen here”, The handmaid told Minho one night before bed.  
“Dad has silver hair. Ew, I don’t want to marry my dad. How old is he really huh?”

He heard a long sigh above him.  
“I told you dear, only one year older than you.”  
“Oh. Then REALLY old.  
Does he have wrinkles like dad too?”  
“... just go to bed already.”

“Minho has beautiful eyes just like his mother. She was once held as the pinnacle of beauty in all the land, and some say he’ll grow into a title just the same”,  
his mother told Chan one night in the library.

“ mom I don’t think we should trust the statement of a person thinking that a 4 year old is beautiful do you?”  
His mothers eyes shook with the force of someone holding back a mighty eye roll.

“Channie I’m just saying he is almost certainly going to be a very pretty mate.”  
“But you always say beauty is only skin deep and shouldn’t matter. One time I heard you tell Aunt Yul that a man that only sees beauty is a pathetic loser who-“  
“OKAY. Enough. Go to bed it’s getting late.”

No matter what good things everyone whispered to each boy about the other, nothing would stick.  
Chan has eyes of emerald like a forest?  
Minho hates vegetables and thus green.  
Minho has a cute and charming giggle like wind chimes?  
Chan hates wind chimes cause they disturb his naps.  
Chan has a heart of gold for his friends and beyond?  
Minho doesn’t count on it. How could a person with a kind heart want to take him from everything he knows?  
Minho has a quick wit but a gentle soul?  
Chan doesn’t buy it. How can someone make fun of others and also care so much about them?

By the time they are 5 and 6 they both resented hearing a word about their “fated”.  
Around distant friends and relatives they respond as expected,  
“I’ve heard many good things. I’m excited to meet him soon.”  
But around their closest companions they can’t help but complain.

“Jisung everyone and their mother wants to tell me how sweet and cute and whatever he is but how can everyone just expect me to accept this boy for the rest of my life?”  
At 6 Chan was already an independent child, always requesting his own knife to cut his meat, and using every spare moment wandering the gardens and even regularly slinking down to the local town as sneakily as he can with five guards around him at all times. 

So not very. 

Not that the local townsfolk would ever tell their plump cheeked crown prince such a thing.  
Not when he played in the dirt with their kids, bought their trinkets like treasures, and always asked where he could help.  
Freedom was all he craved, and from the moment he was born he had choices already picked for him.

Most he could deal with as they were small, like what he should wear, (though he did hate the heavy crown and stiff clothing so, so much) or his schedule (some tutoring in the morning, weapon practice, lunch, then finally free time!).  
But the idea of losing the choice of who he could love, and being stuck with that choice his whole life haunted Chan.

See his father was a bit of a romantic, always bragging about how he found his mother dancing on the streets on the way to her work, and he knew he would never find a brighter light in this world.  
But his father was the crown prince in a time of greater stability than Chan, and while his eventual success in wooing the woman he loved was accepted by their people, Chan knew he faced no such luck.

But explaining to a 5 year old that they’re just unlucky?  
Nobody’s idea of a good time.

So they told him he was blessed.  
Blessed with beauty, courage, and a mate that was fated to him.

But what is fate but another way to say one lacks a choice?

Chan grew up and he understood nothing would change.  
But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Minho thought his intended must be a monster. One with grey hair and wrinkles, who snatched little boys up. Sometimes in the dark of the night, he would be convinced he’s hiding right under his bed.  
He would never tell a soul.  
Hell, he’s sure if the boy was under his bed Minho’s whole family would be GLAD to see him.  
For Minho is his intended sacrifice.

His mother would say that he was still going to visit home at least a month or two each year, and that any sign of any harm to him meant war, but he had heard of war, and as hard as it might be once he was wed, he didn’t want that even if he was hurt. 

“I don’t understand why I have to go with this ‘fated mate boy’ Hyunjin! I mean he’s old and he’s weird and he’s... he’s going to take me away.”  
Hyunjin could only pout, and beg Minho not to go. As if Minho had a choice!

Minho was a spirited and curious boy, who had a passion for his people’s traditional dance and animals His visits to the main city’s dancing square and local animal shelter were a regular occurrence these days. People walked away with smiles after seeing their bright prince spinning in the square, or sitting in the alleys playing around with stray cats. 

But he was also a homebody. He loved his home, sunny and open, the warm dirt and ocean breeze all he craved after a long day of lessons. 

He knew he would have to leave to start a new life, one everyone promised would be kind and magical. 

But how can one assure a child of a future in which they can’t guarantee themselves? 

Minho was no fool, he knew the day would come, and he would do what he must.  
But that didn’t mean he didn’t dread it.

A letter brought an invitation to Duralin’s cliffs, only 4 days after prince Minho’s 6th birthday. For the next three weeks before Chan’s own birthday they would be the same age. Thus the proposal went like this: for two of these weeks let the boys meet.  
They would see both come to the tiny island almost exactly midway between nations as it was neutral ground, controlled by both kingdoms and thus safe to both.  
Thus in 3 days, if Pascova hears a confirmation, then they will send Minho, accompanied by his cousin Hyunjin, there for two weeks to finally meet his fiancé.  
The boys will then depart the island 3 days before Chan’s birthday, and so the tradition can continue.

Chan’s mother was delighted at the idea.  
She couldn’t help the pangs of guilt every time Chan winced when his intended was mentioned, and she was sure that actually meeting him would clear things right up. She’s never met someone Chan didn’t charm!  
So she sent back a reply right away— the answer a resounding yes.


	2. UGH.

When Minho and Chan fist met it was a disaster.  
What the queen of Durlian, and perhaps the rest of the kingdom, were not counting on was that Chan and Minho didn’t WANT to be charming.  
Not to the one they already resented anyway.

Everyone who meet Minho and Chan thought how lucky their fiancé must be. 

But perhaps they thought that because they were NOT their to be fiancé. 

If they were, well then they would have seen the cold blank stare each boy gave to the other as they walked into the same room.

Minho had already felt a little queasy from the hour and a half boat ride to the island by the time they arrived.   
But then again-- he never got sea sick.  
So what was that swirling in his stomach?

He hated look scared in front of anyone but his mom, but the moment he stepped beside his father into the vast white marble room he grabbed hyunjin’s hand and held on tight.

Chan sighed for the sixth time that day, looking at the grand door before him, staring at its carved surface for a long moment.   
It had already been long morning folding into a long day.   
After a firm shove behind slammed into him, he almost banged his head into that same door.  
He didn’t have to look back to know who it was.  
“I get it sungie. I’m going ok, no need to push.”  
He ignored the snort behind him, and clenched his hands as his mother stepped in front and opened the hefty door.

Both boys peered at each other across the vast room, taking in the image of their future.

Minho opened his mouth to say his first words to the boy who was written to be his, his destiny, his fated partner, and he said,  
“You’re a little less ugly than I thought you would be.”

Chan blinked twice, and with all the maturity in his 6 year old body, responded,  
“well I don’t see why everyone said you’d be pretty.”

“Hey! Mine was nice. You suck! I knew it.”  
“Yours wasn’t nice! You said everyone called me ugly!”  
“I didn’t say that!”  
“Did to!”  
“Did not!”  
“Did to!”  
“Did not!”  
“Did—“  
“ OK both of you shut your mouths this instant!”,   
Chan’s mother's voice rang out in the stony space.

Her delicate eyebrows were twisted together, and her scowl was enough for both boys to cower a little.

“That is NOT how we taught you to treat a new friend Christopher.”  
Damn, the full religious name.  
Chan pouted, but nodded dutifully, knowing it was far from over.   
In fact, he had a feeling he might be hearing about THIS the rest of his long life.  
However before more scolding could come his way, his mother deliberately turned to Minho’s father and raised a ‘if you don’t says something I will damn it’ eyebrow in his direction.  
Minho’s father stifled his chuckle quickly at the look, and glared at Minho as severely as he could muster.  
“That’s right Minho, you wouldn’t like someone saying the same about you, so you shouldn’t have said that to Chan.”

Minho crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the ground.  
He didn’t get scolded much, but when he did he felt the disappointment like a crushing weight, smushing him right to hell.  
That’s where bad boys went right?

Suddenly he felt tears well up, and he couldn’t take the humiliation to let them spill on the cold ground in front of HIM.   
He rushed out of the room, hand still gripping Hyunjin and pulling them both through the large doors out to the courtyard.  
He ignored the calls after him, and ran into the dense forest just beyond the grand house they had just arrived at.

He only stopped when a large root caught his foot, causing him to crash into the muddy ground.  
He lifted his body slowly from the earth, Hyunjin hovering over him like a fluttering bird.  
Minho gazed solemnly at his dirty scraped hands,  
and began to sob.

Even Hyunjins warmth wrapped around his back couldn’t settle him, his cries long and loud.  
Soon enough he tired himself out, and he just laid on the ground with one arm clinging to his cousin nice and tight.  
Looking up at the blazing sun, mosaiced by the tree tops around him, he felt a certain peace.  
But remembering what he just left sent him spinning once more.

He knew he was being foolish, but he couldn’t help the tremble on his lips when he saw the blond boy there really before him.  
It’s not that the boy looked like his nightmare come to life, no that would have been less scary than the truth.  
Because the truth is that he looked real.  
A perfectly real little boy, one who pouted and glared, and spoke just like him. And that meant it was all real-- the pretty words, the fated match, the destined departure.  
His long lashes fluttered shut and his chubby fingers squeezed together in a silent prayer.   
Even if he was a bad boy just now, he hoped the heavens would listen.

Finally Minho’s labored breaths abated, and he sat up to examine the forest around him. Everywhere from left to right lay the same dull gray trunks and emerald tree tops, the path home obscured everywhere he looked.   
Hyunjin pulled on his arm, and looked up at him with watery obsidian eyes,   
“Are we lost hyung? I’m hungry… can we eat the leaves?... But I hate salad…”  
Minho put on his best and most fake ‘I know what I’m talking about face’, and simply stated,  
“We’ll be back in no time. We crashed into that tree over there so let's just go the opposite way as that.”  
To two young boys that logic was air tight.  
The idea that they might have turned or leaned left of right at any point?  
Not possible in their mind certainly.

They had walked and walked for two hours, legs sore and tummy’s rumbling, before they heard the first guard shout out for them.   
With great relief in their hearts, they walked back slowly, holding hands and promising to never let go again.  
The promise was then immediately broken of course, because well, they both had to run when they saw the dinner being served.

Minho felt overcome with relief when he saw the only people sitting around the table was from Pascova, that fact tasting almost as sweet as his first bite of warm meat.   
His father had scolded him thoroughly when they arrived, but even that couldn’t damper his good mood sitting here now.  
“Don’t look to happy now son. Tomorrow the queen and I have decided that you and Chan need to go on a little trip to town together. And no, before you ask, Hyunjin can’t come.”

Just like that Minho’s mood dropped like a rock, a ball of anxiety already forming in his stomach.  
He looked down at his plate, eating his food slowly, and didn’t say another word.  
His father could only sigh looking at his sad little pup pouting over his salad.  
Honestly, if he could change the world for him, he would. But for his kingdom the world revolves around the hope of a new, more peaceful dawn, and he couldn’t interfere with that no matter the supposed power he held. 

Minho trudged up to his simple white bed that night, shivering in the foreign coldness of the sheets when all he craved was the warm comfort of familiarity.   
As he tucked himself in tight, tears pooled like pearls on his lashes, his cries were silent in the dead of the night.   
Slowly darkness claimed him at last, his dreams full of a chase, endless and desperate attempts at escape. 

Chan woke up with the sun peeking through his lace curtains, its rays scattered on his bed like glittering gold gems.  
He rubbed at his tired eyes, sleep always a fickle beast to tame for Chan.  
His mother said it would get better in time, this restlessness that kept him up in the midnight hours, but Chan knew the truth.  
Already worry and the weight of responsibility haunted him in the night, and that would only grow as he did.  
Perhaps 6 was too young for all the burdens Chan found lingering in his own mind each evening, but his father always wanted him prepared for anything the throne could throw at him, so he never spared him the gritty details of the job.

He made his way out to the alcove, and ate most of breakfast in silence.  
His mother raised her head from the book she was reading while eating, and simply stated,  
“It’s time to go Channie. Minho should be waiting for you outside by the entrance.   
You both will have five guards following you but they have been told to be at least 10 steps behind, so you and Minho can chat together ok?”

After the scene yesterday Chan knew there was only one response,  
“Ok mom. Love you, see you soon.”  
She just gave him a fond pat on the head and pushed him out the door,  
“Not too soon Channie. Love you too.”  
Walking down the long bricked hallway, he bumped into a sullen Jisung.  
“Sungie what’s wrong?”  
Sungie looked up, his hazel eyes wide.  
“Why can’t I go with hyung~ I don’t want to spend all day with that Hyunjun guy he looks gross.”  
“Sungie it’s only for today that we have to be apart. Besides he’s your age shouldn’t you be excited?”  
“Well I’m not! He’s with that Minho so he’s mean I’m sure.”  
Chan just sighed, he felt too old for this even at 6.   
Is this what he and Minho looked like being brats yesterday?   
Yikes, Chan better grow up a little huh.  
He just ruffled Jisung’s golden curls.  
“It’ll be ok Sungie. I have to go now, but try to have fun today yeah? I’ll try to do the same.”

Chan shook off Jisung’s death grip as best he could, and stepped out into the blazing courtyard to see Minho’s figure just where it should be.  
He walked over, saw the tight grimace and bloodshot eyes on Minho’s face, and just nodded at him.  
Finally as the silence stretched out too long Chan opened his mouth.  
“Are you um… ready? Should we go now?”  
Minho’s eyes only narrowed in response, and with a snort he whipped around to start walking.  
“Uh Minho? The town is to the left.”  
Minho made a quick 180 turn and sped walk past Chan, his ears burning and his mouth puckered.  
Chan followed quickly, soon falling in line with Minho’s quick step.  
He was even able to repress his chuckle!  
First step to growing up? Check!

By the time they had reached town the silence had gone from awkward to heavy, both boys too unsure to make the first move, and too stubborn to ask for help.  
As they wove in between the colorful stalls of silk and stones, Chan caught ahold of a scrumptious smell. As if bewitched he began to move over to a stall selling fried chicken, the air humid with the scent of peppery batter and savory meat.  
“Hello ma'am! Could I get one--” Chan looked behind him, seeing Minho watch the chicken sizzle in the fryer like a famished cat watches a rat, and continued,  
“Two cartons of fried chicken?”

The woman smiled gently at Chan and handed him two overflowing cartons.  
As he reached out to give her a few gold pieces in payment, she shook her head and beamed back at him.   
“Please no payment! Not for our future royal pair who makes peace. Bless you both!”  
Chan struggled to not let the smile slip off his face as he shakily thanked her, aware that this wasn’t the place for rebellion.  
Chan was surprised as he heard Minho peep up from beside him.   
“Thank you so much. The lord has blessed us and I pray he blesses you too.”  
Chan could only keep his jaw from unhinging as the woman giggled and waved them off talking about how “polite her little princes are”. 

As they sat down to eat, Chan couldn’t help himself.  
“Why the hell did you say that? You sounded like my mom gushing about fate or something.”  
Minho puffed up at the accusation.   
And when he just thought Chan might be alright what with buying him chicken and stuff!  
“Whatever it’s what I’m supposed to say and you know it! It’s not my fault they don’t know it’s really a curse since my fated is you.”  
Chan had been regretting his first statement before Minho spoke, but now he felt justified in his glare.  
“If your cursed than I’m, I’m, um… marrying a cursed person! And that sucks!”  
Minho gave him a flat look at his lame comeback, and just upturned his nose.  
Chan pouted out his red cheeks as he stuffed his face with chicken as fast as he could, and prepared for a long day. 

Sure enough the entire trip was spent bickering in between walking, each boy pushing the other when he thought no one was looking.  
“Look at that demon mask over there. Really has nothing on you huh?”  
“Oh really Minho? Cause I think that carved witch must be your mother.”

“I wish I was marrying anyone instead. Even your cousin looks better.”  
“Hyunjin is only 4! Are you lusting after a 4 year old you old pervert!”  
“I’m only one year older and you know it! And I meant he looked like a better candidate since he seems nice not pretty, loser.”  
“Whatever. Old Pervert.”  
“UGh”

“Should we just go back now?”  
“The sooner the better I say.”  
“Fine but we don’t tell anyone about the fighting. And around our parents we cool it ok?”  
Minho stared long and hard at Chan’s outstretched hand. Finally he batted it away, like a kitten to a ball of yarn, and sniffed pointedly.  
“Fine. Lets go.”

As they journeyed back and joined their parents for a late lunch, both boys nodded along to the questions about if they had a good time.  
There pouts and little glares at each other were still noticed, but both parents decided that it was best to leave whatever progress was made alone.   
As soon as both boys could leave each other’s sights they did, scampering away to play with their respective cousins.

“He kept yelling about everything hyung! I told him to shut up but he never did.”  
Minho nodded dutifly, listening to Hyunjin’s recount of his long plight.  
“I just wanted to... to… push him down the stairs!”  
Minho quickly looked up from his doodling at that.  
“Jinnie you know you can’t! What if your banned and I have to spend all my time with only CHAN??”  
Hyunjin groaned loudly at that, but nodded all the same.  
“Ok min-hyung I won’t. But you better never leave me with him again!”  
Minho let out a long sigh, looking down at his scribble of Chan with a demon mask face, and went to curl around his cousin.  
“I’ll do what I can Jinnie. I really will.”

The rest of the two weeks past by similarly, with Chan and Minho either bickering as quietly as they could, or avoiding each other like the plague.  
When the time came to depart both boys were more than ready to go home. 

Both families stood at the docks, getting ready to send off the Bang’s to Duralin.  
Minho’s father and Chan’s mother shared a long look, and shook each other’s hand.  
Before pulling away the king gave the queen’s hand a pat, and a departing “good luck”.  
Chan’s mother just sighed, and turned back to the awkward pair of boys just standing next to each other.   
“Ok channie hug Minho goodbye and we can go.”  
Chan and Minho looked at the queen like she was a monster, eyes shaking and lips quivering.  
“Moooo~om! I have to hug him?”  
Minho nodded, finally agreeing with Chan about something.  
“We can’t! I mean we.. CAN’T!”

But Chan’s mother simply shook her head and stared down at both boys.  
“You can and will. And then it will be over.”  
Chan knew that tone of voice well, and while Minho looked ready to whine more he knew better.  
So he tightened his fist, got a grasp, and wrapped his arms around Minho as quickly as he could.  
Minho was so shocked he didn’t even get a chance to respond before the arms were off him, and all he could see was Chan’s back stepping up the plank hurriedly.   
As he watched Jisung and the queen follow him, he thought about those arms that had just engulfed him.   
Despite it all they felt a bit-- comforting?  
.  
.  
.  
No that's nonsense.   
Minho would never find comfort in a monster.


	3. In the Dark I'm Honest

The next year passed quickly for Minho and Chan, their worlds developing and growing.  
Chan learned a new weapon, the spear, which quickly became his favorite.  
He wasn’t quite as good as his friend Changbin, but Changbin was better than most boys over 10!   
So he counted himself a proud second best. Besides, with a sword he could still defeat any of the boys his age, and even those a year or two older.   
Still Chan knew his training was far from over, his father informing him that practice would only end once his position on patrol began.  
While Duralin wasn’t currently involved in any wars, the tension with their northern neighbors was thick, like a fog that hung over his nation. Duralin wanted little to do with the northerners, but greed knows no divide, and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that given the chance Duralin would land in their hands once again.

Still, the country of White cliffs had never fallen yet, and her ivory walls are like an island in a sea of trees, towering above any interlopers like a garden angel above her chosen land.  
Chan felt such a deep affection for her cold floors and emerald gardens that he would often stand on his balcony and grin at it, eyes full and smile wide.  
“Slow down lover boy”, His mother would tease him, “She’s already yours as long as you live.”  
In moments of particularly strong empathy, Chan would understand his future mate’s pain. Destined to leave your homeland- now that is a curse.  
It was in moments such as these that Chan vowed to be just a little kinder, take just one more breath of patience when dealing with the impossible boy who was also his as long as he lived.  
But he loved not Minho’s coldness or his gardens, and empathy can only last a short while under the hot lick of anger.  
Thus as his 8th birthday approached and he boarded the ship destined for the island where they would meet again, he still felt little else but dread.

Minho arrived on the island swiftly, his sandaled feet sinking into the hot sand on the breezy coast. His head was filled with clouds, stormy and dark swirling around and around.  
As they got closer to the mansion step by step he felt his sweaty palms clench and his heart beat like a hummingbird's wings.  
He couldn’t even focus on the beautiful thick forestry around him, despite the sight being rare on his own sandy home island.  
Finally they reached the gates and Minho caught his first look at Chan and his mother already standing in the courtyard. 

Chan stood tall, arms wrapped around himself but his spine straight.  
His fluffy golden hair did indeed shine in the light like the sun, just as those pesky aunties had told him, but it looked tamed, like a lion in a cage.  
Minho tried not to shrink or puff out, both responses equally humiliating.  
He did not want to bend, to give in to any expectations that he should bow, but he did not want to fight, to cause trouble when no fight was to be found.  
Their eyes met, and Minho shuddered. He had thought about Chan more than he wanted to admit this past year, and now standing before him again seemed impossible.

He couldn’t blame himself too much though, how can he not think about a person whose presence has been a constant in his life since his birth?  
Their identities have always been wrapped in each other, their paths laid out so clearly that long before they actually touched they were intertwined.  
A piece of him really resents that fact-- that thievery of his identity.  
Minho isn’t CROWN prince, and why is that?  
Because he will be a spouse to a crown prince.  
Minho isn’t a viable omega for anyone to take an interest in-- and why is that?  
Because he is no omega at all. He’s Chan’s omega.  
Minho isn’t just a citizen of his country, able to adore it and only it forever-- WHY??  
Because Minho is temporary. Even in his own home, he has lived to leave.

Minho can’t stand it sometimes, how much of himself is wrapped up around another person he doesn’t even know.

He feels an overwhelming amount of envy sometimes watching Seungmin, his little beta brother and the actual crown prince of Pascova, grow up.  
How he seethes as he watches Seungmin figure out his own identity, learning what his gender, role and personality are apart from anything else.  
But that never lasts long, because despite it all he loves Suengmin so much more than he resents whatever gifts he’s been given, and he can even see time’s when the burden that Suengmin bears will weigh heavier than Minho’s own. 

Still, it grates at times.  
“You have to learn about the kingdom’s resources to help Chan when he needs you Minho, now pay more attention.”  
“Come here and watch me put this eyeliner on sweetheart, eventually you’ll be doing it on yourself for your own alpha.”  
“Oh your playing with the orphans today my lord? That will be such good practice for when your raising princes of your own!”

There is a burning in Minho’s heart, and while logically he knows Chan has hardly any more say than him, he cannot control the flash of temper that warms his core as he stares at Chan’s face.  
Finally they take a couple more steps towards each other, and with heavy hearts and heavier heads, both boys bow.   
The wind picks up around them, and the world holds its breath in the stillness of the day, nothing but leaves clashing in the breeze sounding out near them.

“It’s good to see you again Prince Lee.”  
It was cold.   
Frigid, in stark contrast to the fire that surrounded their last meeting.  
Is that what growing up meant? Sulking rather than screaming?  
“Yes it is good to see you as well Crown Prince Bang.”  
The introduction was short, emphasizing their difference in titles and thus connection to one another once more. 

Minho took a deep breath, and let go of what he could without losing his grip.  
Chan’s mother spoke up from beside the boy, her brows pinched but her stare more searching than angry.  
“Shall we eat then?”  
The group went inside, everyone settling down to the gold detailed dining table, with the two boys and their cousins facing each other. Rather than looking across from them however, both boys instead turned to their side, facing and chatting with their relatives rather than one another.   
Their strategy of ignoring each other was working so far, In fact it was going rather well if you asked them!

This peace, like most temporary truces, lasted only a short while.  
“WHAT?! What do you mean I have to sleep in the same room as CHAN? Daaaddd you can’t be serious!”  
Minho stomped his small foot, cheeks puffed out in indignation.  
How dare he suggest he sleep with… with… with CHAN?  
That’s like his own father pulling the monster out from under his bed, tucking him in next to him, and kissing them both goodnight!  
His mouth puckers at the thought. Surely this is some threat used to make Minho willing to take another trip with Chan or something right?

“I’m very serious Minho. You and Chan need more time to talk one on one and going outside with all the guards and other people around is alright, but heart to hearts often happen in the dark. And quite frankly you two need to have a couple of those.”  
Minho felt offended on account of himself, Chan, those who like daylight, and all 7 year olds like himself.   
A heart to heart in the night? What next did they need to cuddle? Never.  
Minho turned his long nose up to the ceiling, feeling enough indignation to fill up a regular adult.   
“Impossible. Sticking us in a dark room won’t stop Chan from being a big weenie nor me from letting him know exactly that.”  
“Minho! Oh lord.”  
His father squatted down to Minho’s eye level, his stern gaze all Minho could see.  
“We aren’t doing this to torture you Minho. And neither is Chan. We all know this is hard but it’s necessary. Do you want to be unhappy forever? Because the only person that could change that is you.”

Minho almost rolled his big eyes right into the back of their sockets.  
Oh sure when he’s upset it’s a “choice” and he “needs to get over it” but when his dad is sad over some- whatever ‘famine-thing’ over in the east quarter or something- he gets to be sulky all day!!  
Ugh it’s just like parents to not understand the plight of a poor 7 year old.  
Minho gives a long sigh, his pout so deep his lips have almost doubled in size.  
“No” he mumbled “I want to be happy. Just take me there or whatever.”  
Minho’s father gave a long sigh of his own, still not pleased with his child’s attitude, but equally dissatisfied with his chances in changing it. 

When they reached the room Chan was already there in the bed facing the window, looking calm but decidedly sullen. Both boys barely reacted to each other, Minho quietly setting out his things as his father wished him goodnight and walked away.   
The sound of the door clicking closed echoed in the barren room, the honeyed light from the sunset casting the room into a silken melancholy mood. 

Chan stared at the dust floating around, seemingly fascinated by their slow dance through the air. Finally the clink of the drawer shut as well, and Chan could hear a creak on the bed as Minho laid down 5 feet next to him.   
As the light leaked out of the room both boys faced away from each other.  
Chan stared at the wall, the world looking clearer and scarier in the moonlight.  
Is this his future? To share a room with someone yet only see his back?  
Chan wasn’t used to the complete loss of control, the free fall into a future that was locked in place. Maybe it would be better if Minho and him were at least friends. He supposed they did have a long time to get there.  
With the slight comfort of that thought, Chan closed his eyes tight.  
After tossing and turning a while over the possible solutions to his impossible situation, Chan finally fell asleep. 

The next week passed much the same as the first day, with Minho and Chan actively ignoring each other all day, only to come back to the room and passively ignore each other each night.  
Hyunjin and Jisung complained endlessly to both boys about their rooming situation, now together as well, which mostly consisted of reenactments of their incredibly serious arguments, such as if aquamarine is blue or green (“It’s aqua-- water. Water is blue.” “WATER CAN BE GREEN.” “How would YOU know land livin’ boy??” “UGH.”) and who drools the most in his sleep (“You,” “NO YOU.” “STOP YELLING DROOLER.” “NO YOU.”). 

Minho and Chan however were surprisingly tight lipped on how their rooming was working out. Both boys knew that any honest report on their silent shared nights would only lead to disappointed stares and more possible meddling, so in an unspoken pact they both simply nodded or gave a mumbled “fine” to any questions on how it was going.   
Both parents weren’t sure if their reluctance came from hiding disagreements or not wanting to admit that their parents were right and they were in fact bonding, so they let it go for now.

But almost exactly halfway through the trip the pattern was broken.  
That night Minho had been feeling restless.  
Keeping in all the tension was getting unbearable, and while he didn’t want any trouble he also couldn’t stand the quiet grinding in his own head any longer.   
In an attempt to sleep off the negative emotions he went straight to bed, before Chan even entered the room.  
But one should never go to bed angry and expect peace to come. 

Minho woke up with a scream on the tip of his lips.  
His chest heaved, and his breaths came out like a wet sob.  
His dreams of frantic escape haunted him, the sensation of being pinned causing him to shake with dread at the thought of dark closed in spaces.   
His only respite in the room was the moonlight streaming in from the window, the light bathing him feeling like clemency.  
He crawled out of his sweaty prison towards it’s view, overcome with the longing to taste fresh air. Hardly any other thought crossed his mind, until he knelt on the bed to open the clasp and heard a grunt from underneath him.

Minho sprung back, standing hunched under the piercing gaze staring at him from a ruffled Chan. His green eyes glowed in the light, his curls wild where they sprouted from his head.  
“What are you doing Minho?”  
Lost still in sleep and terror, Minho was left with nothing but the truth.  
“I… I had a bad dream. I was trapped and I wanted to breathe some fresh air to forget about it.”  
Chan stared for a while, and Minho was about to turn around and try and forget about it back in bed before he spoke up again.  
“Ok. Get over here then.”

Chan sat up slowly, tucking the sheet over his shoulders and his feet below his thighs as he reached out for the latch.  
He swung the pane of glass outward, immediately inviting in a refreshing gust of cold air.  
He looked back at Minho again, his eyes neutral and his tone plain.  
“Come here. You can feel it better.”  
Minho paused briefly, but soon hurried to sit next to Chan on the bed, shivering lightly.   
To his great surprise he felt a soft sheet and warm hand wrapped around his other side, placing the blanket around him before retreating. 

He stared at Chan’s side profile, but Chan’s face remained forward facing the vast and dark forest spread below them.  
Slowly Minho turned his face outward as well, and took in the peaceful scenery.  
The forest was a mass of tangled treetops, poking out onto the sea of the black sky, with only the crescent of light to expose their color.   
There was something especially comforting about being tucked under a warm comforter when all around you a cold wind flowed.   
They sat there in solitude together, Minho feeling his mind and body slowly settle.  
He didn’t even realize he was on the precipice of sleep until he woke up in his own bed facing the bright sunlight. 

The tension wasn’t gone, most of their silences still loaded with unspoken gripes, but neither boy felt quite as on edge as the week before.  
Once again the next week together passed by quickly, full of awkward small talk--  
(“So… you like cats.”  
“Yep.”  
“Cool.”  
“Yeah, I guess.”  
“I.. uh like dogs better.”  
“Oh.”  
“Um.. yeah.”  
“I..see.”)  
Or passive aggressive niceties--  
(“You’re looking nice Chan. I would have never been so bold to put plaid and stripes together myself.  
“Yes well being bold is part of who I am. But I’ve heard you’re quite daring yourself? Jisung told me Hyunjin spun a fascinating story of his ‘cool cousin Minho who once dared to stick his tongue out at a foreign emissary and told him he’s boring’. And you only got 10 spankings for it? I couldn’t compete with that bravery.”  
“Hyunjin you little… I mean yep I’m no coward not like others.”  
“Others meaning…?”  
“Why Hyunjin of course? Who else could I mean dear Prince? I mean CROWN prince.”).

Their last day was spent in the library, practically locked inside by their exasperated parents.  
Once again they proceeded to ignore each other’s presence, until Chan saw the title of Minho’s book and couldn’t keep his mouth shut.  
“ Is that ‘Agriculture for beginners: crop types and possible problems’ ?’Cause I just read that. Damn it was boring as hell. But Pascova doesn’t have many crops like that-- why are you reading it?”  
Minho flushed, reluctant to remind Chan about a truth they both have worked so hard to forget.  
“Well I… I won’t be living in Pascova as a ruler will I? When I rule it will be by your side-- in Duralin. And while you may have the final say in these matters everyone knows a king’s spouse is his greatest influence. ”

Chan froze, releasing now just how much this whole situation affects them both. Maybe Minho even more. Well okay, Minho more for sure.   
He looked down feeling a bit of shame creep into his gut.  
“Oh. Um… well it’s boring as hell and I’m sorry to subject it on you. Spoiler alert: the crops grow well in good weather and struggle in drought. Maybe you can tell your instructors I already read it and you got the gist already, so you can get out of the rest.”  
Minho looked at the book again, then at his own finger twirling in his lap. He heaved a put upon sigh, and gave a small but honest smile to Chan.  
“I’ll try it out and tell you if it works. If not, I won’t mind too much I mean...I-I want to be informed and be a good adviser too. And you don’t have to apologize because… it isn’t your fault.”

Chan’s head snapped up and the last line, and they stared at each other in heavy silence.   
Minho’s face was beautiful-- when it smiled.  
His eye’s upturned with feline grace, the corners of his lips curled and slightly pouted.  
He shined.  
Chan swallowed and simply nodded, hurriedly burying his face in his book once more, and his feelings into the back of his mind.   
Minho pouted at the bland response, and snorted before going back to his own book.

As they parted ways with another quick and stunted hug, both boys felt both more troubled and more settled than when they started.   
And if they both had a little more trouble going to sleep alone once they got back, well-- they’d never tell a soul.


	4. Take a bit to consider

How long is a year really?   
How many moments-- how many memories?  
All Minho knows is that it was far too damn short for his taste.   
Once again he found himself on this cursed ship, being sent out to play housewife to some golden haired dweeb. Well- maybe that was a little harsh, after all that one night he… well- UGH Minho doesn’t know ok! Chan is a confusing figure in his life, of that he has no doubt.  
A headache and a relief all in one. Yes, he said what he said, a relief. He wouldn’t be caught dead even thinking such things a year ago, but he is wiser now.   
Or maybe just more knowledgeable about what it REALLY means to be king.   
Now that Seungmin is seven his studies, training, and schedule have all escalated exponentially. Forget getting to learn about oneself, Seungmin doesn’t get to learn about ANYTHING that’s not relevant to kingdom raising. As Minho slipped out the door to play with the neighborhood cats after his lesson’s end at four, he could feel Seungmin’s gaze burn a fiery path into his back.  
Well it’s not HIS fault he doesn’t need to know every crop from each section of the kingdom… well actually any in their kingdom. 

Still, it was perhaps a much needed wake up call that quite frankly, choice was never an option for him. King or a spouse of one, Minho was meant for a life that is paved by the expectations of what his kingdom needs of him and little else.  
It didn’t mean his bitterness is gone just like that of course!   
But even he can admit when he was perhaps being a little petty. Even poor Hyunjin has started his training, and the boy is really struggling with it. Even though the beta is quite big for his age, he has little control over his body, and truth be told he’s not really cut out for the warrior's life. He’d rather be dancing with Minho in the square, or stealing food from the pantry as the madam pretends to look the other way, than swinging a sword all about.  
And Minho, while certainly more versed in a sword then Hyunjin, has no great mastery over the subject matter as he’s not expected to be using it very regularly.   
He would be more insulted if he had any interest.  
As it stands Minho’s grateful for the short lessons he has, especially when he sees Hyunjin and Seungmin sparring into the twilight hours. Poor Hyunjin always comes away a bit more battered from those clashes as well. 

So here he is, setting foot on this dreaded island once again. Even that thought seems a bit hyperbole now though. It’s not that he DREADS these visits, it’s just that… well they stir him up in unexpected ways. Perhaps the word for it is weary. He’s not sure what this trip will bring, and to be honest he’s not sure he wants to know. But time waits for no one, and his father quickly shuffles him along onto the stone path that leads to the mansion.   
Hyunjin is walking beside him, slightly limping from yet another harsh lesson. Minho couldn't help but wince when he saw the cluster of bruises on his side, and despite everyone saying it’s for his own good, Minho just wants these lessons to be a little easier for Hyunjin.

They reach the mansion in no time, and once Minho’s eyes meets Chan’s he can’t help but look him up and down to notice any difference the year has brought him.  
Chan has grown considerably, more broadening than lengthening, and his body is less of a lanky boy and a but more like a well muscled man. The difference is still not total of course, in fact it seems a bit lopsided. While his chest is more broad, his legs have remained relatively thin, and overall the impression seemed a bit awkward, like a newborn cub who had the mass but none of the balance.   
Minho on the other hand had stayed rather proportionate, although he always has been a bit bottom heavy. Well he supposed him and Chan kind of reflected each other then.

They bowed to each other, and both families went to eat. Sitting down at the full table, Minho was grateful to fill his empty stomach with the olives, cheese, and bread before their main course. As he was chatting with Hyunjin about how to make a perfect spin and who had the better balance on one foot, Hyunjin tried to scoot in a little further and gave out a little yelp when his bruised side hit the table.   
The parents only gave him a quick glance before confirming he was alright for now, but Chan’s gaze stayed on him.  
Chan’s mouth was formed in a deep frown, and he spoke to Hyunjin for what might have been the second time ever.  
“Hey are you alright? It didn’t look like you hit the table too hard but you yelled out like it was pretty painful.”

Hyunjin shied away from the older boys gaze for a moment, mumbling into the table,  
“I-its fine. I just should have guarded my left side better so I’m a bit bruised.”  
Chan’s frown didn’t dissolve even as he nodded in understanding.  
“I see. Well it’s not your fault you know we all let our guard down every once in a while. I did it too often so I trained using sandbags tied to my hands for a week. After that keeping them up all the time felt like a breeze.”  
Hyunjin looked at him with a bit of hope in his eyes, and nodded. For the first time in a long time Hyunjin wasn’t being called stupid or lazy, but getting real practical advice about how to fight.

Minho saw the shift in his cousin, witnessing the light shining in eyes he hadn’t even realized had dulled. At that moment a plan formed in his head.  
Although it caused him an even greater headache, he would carry it out for his cousin. For Hyunjin, he would do almost anything.  
Thus when night fell and Chan and him brought their stuff into their shared room to unpack, he pounced.  
“Chan can I talk to you about something?”  
Obviously startled by his inquiry but trying not to show it, Chan gave a weary nod.   
“Okay listen Hyunjin has really been struggling with weapon training you know? I mean REALLY struggling. Like coming back defeated and bruised every night struggling. And while I know a bit about sword training, I don’t know enough to help him and I think he needs some guidance. Now I’m not sure what it’ll take but I would really like it if you could teach him and--”  
“Okay. I’ll teach him.”

Minho starred.  
“Under what condition?”  
Chan starred back.  
“Under no condition. Or I mean, there are no conditions to me teaching him.”  
Minho just narrowed his eyes a bit, unsure if he could really trust such a statement. What motive would Chan have to help him?  
“Why? You’ve barely even spoke to him.”  
Chan raised an eyebrow, but other than that stayed neutral.  
“Well first of all I know he’s more hurt than he’s letting on, and I don’t want that to keep happening. Second of all when I told him it wasn’t his fault he looked like I had said something revolutionary. That should not be the case. I was already planning on speaking to your dad about his training and how it’s being conducted.”

Now Minho was beyond surprised. He didn’t even have to ask Chan to interfere? Chan was just doing it… to help? He remembers now all his maids stories about how generous and caring Chan was suppose to be-- a true friend and king they had said. Perhaps there was more to those stories than he thought.  
“Oh. Thanks then.”  
And with that both boys turned back to unpacking, eventually moving into bed.  
Head still reeling a little from the revelation of an hour ago, Minho almost didn’t hear the whisper spoken from the bed next to him.   
“Hey I almost forgot I do have a condition.”

Oh--oh so there WAS a condition.  
He should have known really there was nothing in this world for free.  
Irrationally annoyed, mainly at himself for being so gullible, Minho fiercely whispered back.  
“What condition then?”  
Chan paused, perhaps noting his tone before piping up again.   
“With me busy teaching Hyunjin, Jisung will be on his own. I don’t want him to be completely by himself or he will get into trouble and get all sulky. Can you hang out with him some?”

Okay damn it all to hell.  
His condition was that he wanted him to take care of his cousin because he was worried about him? Dang maybe Minho was a mean person after all.  
“Oh Uh… yeah. We might visit you the first time so it’s not too awkward and then we can...um chill a little together.”  
His reply was uncharacteristically meek, and in his chagrin he quickly shut his eyes and turned his back to Chan to try and get some sleep.  
And if a little bit of guilt and a little more respect for Chan followed him there-- well there is nothing he can do about it. 

It felt weird walking out of the room with Minho voluntarily by his side, but Chan supposed he could get used to it. Their footsteps echoed on the marbled hallway, passing painting after painting of long forgotten royal family.   
The island had always been a meeting place for the two kingdoms, and a place of coming together for the royalty who normally were at each other’s throats.  
Chan can’t hold back a snort at the thought of what his great-granfather’s face would look like knowing who his intended would be. He had fought in not one, but two wars with the island warriors, and his father tells whispered tales of all the “creative” things he had to say about the people of Pascova. Now his own line will bare some marks of the tanned skinned folk, maybe even losing the Bang line’s iconic blazing green eyes.  
Chan kind of hope so. The green eyes gave him away everywhere he goes, not the rarest of traits in his home kingdom but almost nonexistent any other place. They were pretty perhaps, or at least that’s what everyone told him, but they took away what little freedom and autonomy he had. Not only did it mean those who gazed upon him knew his position immediately, but also that he could never step a foot out of the palace to explore any other place without a heap of guards in tow, his appearance too much of a dead give away to potential attackers. 

Chan stumbled a little as Minho gave him an obviously intentional shoulder shove, and when he turned around to stare at him to see what he wanted he simply saw him pout.  
What in the world was Minho sulking for? All they’ve been doing is walking in silence to Jisung and Hyunjin’s door? He hadn’t even been paying attention to him for goodness sake!  
Unless… perhaps that was the problem? He had never experienced it first hand but maids had told tales of the prince who loves to put on a performance… well he could try something he supposed.  
“Minho do you know what in particular Hyunjin is struggling with? I’m worried he might be too shy to tell me himself.”  
Quickly Minho’s lips unpursed, and his eyes turned up in thought.  
“I think it’s blocking effectively and quickly enough. He’s a bit of a scaredy cat, and he cowers more than counters.”  
Then Minho’s eyes fixed on Chan and narrowed, his back straightening out.  
“Don’t you dare make fun of him for it though. Not unless you plan on really helping him fix it too anyway. I tease him sometimes, but it’s all out of love. Yet that good for nothing dickwad who taught him before really made him feel like the scum of the earth for not being a natural at fighting-- but he shouldn’t be punished for being gentle, because that’s a gift! And I swear--”  
Chan placed his hand on Minho’s shoulder almost unthinking, wanting to calm the ruffled cat with his fur all sticking straight up.   
“I assure you, I’ll be using mostly positive reinforcement with the boy. It’s ok to point out parts to work on, but no one should have a gentle soul beaten out of them. There is a lot more good in someone who's caring, than someone who’s unfeeling, even if the latter makes a better soldier. Frankly I’d rather have a better civilian.”  
Minho once again paused in consideration of Chan, who certainly wasn’t shaping up to be a nightmarish figure. It was much too early to cast all doubts aside, even the idea of true faith in him seemed foreign, but from the perspective of something less intimate than spouses, like a civilian to his king, Minho could see why Duralin seemed to be so content with their future. He could understand why everyone says Chan will make an era to remember.

They came to the door faster than Minho thought they would, and soon enough both boys entered the room after a quick knock. There they found a scene that surprised neither boy.  
Jisung had Hyunjin in a chokehold, screaming about what seems to be a doll that Hyunjin is clutching tight in his grip underneath him.  
“Jisung!” Suddenly Chan’s voice booms out, carrying more authority than Minho had thought possible for a 10 year old boy.  
“What is happening here? Why are you choking Hyunjin?”  
Jisung sprang up and then stood stalk still, his fluffy cheeks already starting to pout out, forming his face into a perfect circle.  
His green eyes widened in appeal and he stuttered out, “I-I wasn’t doing anything! Hyunjin won’t share and he said he would!”  
Hyunjin flung around from his squat on the ground.  
“I wouldn’t have held it back if you didn’t try and snatch it right from my hands!”  
Now Jisung was glaring and about to snap back before Chan put a demanding hand on both boy’s shoulders.  
“Stop this right now. Jisung that’s not how we get what we want. And Hyunjin you need to fulfill your promises even if others make it difficult to do so. Now me and Minho have been talking and it’s been decided that I will be working with Hyunjin on his training for most of this break, and Minho has agreed to spend some time with you Jisung, so you won’t have to deal with each other much longer.”

Instead of satisfying the boys that seemed to make their joint protests even loader, their eye’s shimmering and their cheeks puffed.  
“CHAAANN You CAN’T JuSt LeaVe MEE~~~”  
“MINHO WHy??? I DOn’t want to train and with CHAN?? I HATE YOU?”  
Minho stepped further in the room, now shoulder to shoulder beside Chan, and raised a sharp eyebrow at both whining boys.  
“Hyunjin you know this will be good for you. And I’ll have you know I am a very interesting conversational partner Jisung so you better shut up before I just abandon you.”  
Not his MOST mature response, but it got both boys to quiet down once they saw their cousin’s united front. 

So with a whole lot of grumbling and eye rolling, both sets of cousins began the journey through the castle and the courtyard onto a long grassy strip near the mansion garden. Chan pulled out a few practice swords and body armour, and then lead Hyunjin into a more remote corner of the area. Jisung and Minho went to sit by the lake, still within sight of the others but not able to hear them.  
Minho felt the air between him and Jisung grow stifling, despite the nice breeze passing through the trees, and he hardly knew where to start with the boy beside him. He opened his mouth but barely got a sound out before he was cut off.  
“So why do you hate Channie?”  
Those famous green eyes were sharp where they dug into his skin, and for a boy of barely seven Jisung sure could show a bit of wrath.  
Minho paused to consider his options, and calculated his chances of diffusing the obvious anger settling in beside him.  
“I don’t hate him. I hate that I belong to him. I don’t even know him well enough to hate him.”  
Jisung just snorted and turned his sharp nose into the air with indignity.  
“Well you obviously don’t know him or you would know he would vigorously deny any ownership involved. AND that you're the luckiest person on earth to be his.”  
Minho felt a tick in his jaw at the statement. He had heard a lot of talk about his “luck” from a lot of people, and he’s not one to tolerate it very long. He tried to calm his anger and hear out what Jisung thought however, since this is not just some distant maid talking but someone who knows Chan quite well.  
“And why would you say that?”  
Jisung turned to face him, his sharpness melting into genuine confusion and eager adoration. When his features softened a little, so did Minho’s hardened heart, anger leaking out of him as he took in the boy’s face. Had he always been this cute?  
“Because Chan’s the best of course! He helps animals on the side of the road, old ladies who can’t afford their medicine, and kids like me who can never get their lessons right. Chan says I just have a special way of thinking that our instructors don’t understand. He never calls me dumb like the maids do when they think I can’t hear.” Jisung leaned in closer, eyes wide, “Once I even heard him scolding my tutor for making me stay until midnight to finish my practice, telling him that I needed to rotate subjects to keep interested and that it wasn’t that I wasn’t learning right, but that he wasn’t teaching right! Ever since then my studies have been better and I even got an 85 on my last test!”

Jisung’s gap tooth smile that day would stick with him for a long time. The trust, the adoration, the respect. It really did seem simple to him to let go and trust Chan with it all. And it was more than simple hero worship of someone who’s older, it was loyalty so deep Minho knows it will never leave. Jisung would follow Chan anywhere, and Minho had a feeling he wasn’t the only one.   
“I see. Well I can tell you really respect him. I suppose from my position it is harder to do so because I know him less and need to give him more. But I’m not going to question your impression of him. In fact I suppose I’m glad to hear it.”  
Suddenly Jisung’s youthful face grew more thoughtful, and he looked more mature than the worshipping boy of a minute ago.  
“I get it I guess. Two weeks is not very long to get to know someone that you are meant to be with for the rest of your life. Besides, Chan always says I should remember how much you have to give up. He hates the idea that you will have to leave your homeland. Says the idea of the reverse haunts him.”  
Minho is once again shocked into silence, something which HAD to stop happening.   
But it had never occurred to him that maybe Chan did really know what he was giving up. That he didn’t have the expectations like everyone else that he should feel only “blessed”. Maybe Chan knew better than anyone that this is not easy.   
Jisung’s voice cut through the fog of his overthinking, its sharp high pitch arresting his attention once more.  
“Well enough of that what’s your favorite animal?”  
Others might be jarred by this switch, or question it’s abruptness, but those people are not Minho.   
“Cats. They are furry and annoying and I like that.”  
Jisung just grinned a huge checkered smile.  
“Nice. Mine’s squirrels. Did you know they forget almost half the nuts they bury? Felix always says they’re my spirit animal.”  
Minho considered it.  
“I could see it. But what about a chipmunk?”  
And so the conversation flowed.

200 feet away Chan was trying to patiently explain the basics of blocking to a sullen Hyunjin, and was reaching his ropes end as it all seemed to go in one ear and out the other. “Hyunjin are you even listening? I don’t really want to do this either but I know it could help so I’m here. But if you are going to continue to be like this I’ll leave.”  
Hyunjin looked down at his feet scraping at the cracked earth below him.  
“Sorry hyung. I just don’t know why I need learn how to fight so much. I hate it and I suck at it!”  
He stabbed his wooden sword into the ground in frustration, then sighed.  
Chan pried the sword from the earth once more, and forced Hyunjin’s chin up with it’s tip.  
“Are you willing to let those you love die?”, Chan asked, face grim.  
“N-no of course not.”  
“Well then why are you so comfortable being helpless then? Do you think violence is only used in war Hyunjin? I wish it were so. But there are people in this world who use violence everyday. To attack the weak, to take what they want, to gain power. And while kindness is necessary to a good life, so is the ability to protect. Don’t learn this with the idea of hurting others in mind, learn this with the thought of being a shield for those you love. One of the kindest boys I’ve ever known, Kim Woojin, is also one of our fiercest warriors. He doesn’t use his power to conquer, he uses it so he can be an officer in the civilian guard, taking down criminals and protecting civilians under his care. Be like him, not some destructive killer.”

Hyunjin felt like this was a revelation. Being a warrior didn’t mean being mean? His instructor was certainly both. But he supposes Chan isn’t. And neither is this Kim Wookin fellow. His grip on his sword tightened and he gave a sharp nod.  
“Okay. What were you saying about blocking?”  
Chan grinned and gave Hyunjin’s shoulder a strong clap.  
“You’re going to be a great protector one day Hyunjin, I can feel it. Now let’s tie these sandbags around your wrists-- they are only 3 pounds but trust me you’ll feel them soon enough. But I’m telling you this: after this week you’ll never drop your guard again.”  
Hyunjin’s eyes shined, and he felt sure he could give it his all.

Over the next two weeks the two pairs of cousins settled into a routine-- Hyunjin and Chan would practice from 10-1, eat lunch with the two families, and then resume from 2-6. Minho and Jisung would stick close but also explore, bringing back snacks and reading books together. Minho and Jisung bonded over their shared love of animals, music, and disgust with long lessons. Hyunjin grew to respect Chan’s methods, and his own technique grew in spades under his careful and positive tutelage. Soon they were also bonding over a shared love of meat, rapping, and cuddling. Once Jisung and Minho came back to discover them wrapped around each other taking a long deserved nap in the sun. That of course quickly ended after Minho and Jisung poured a bit of lake water on them, and ran away from the wet boys chasing them with wooden swords.

Time passed as it does, and as their third visit came to an end both sets of boys were more reluctant to see each other go than in the past. Yes it was true that they had grown more fond of their betrothed cousin then each other, but Chan and Minho had reached a relative peace with each other too. As they wrapped around each other in a hug goodbye, each even gave a tight smile to the other. Their feelings confused but tentatively hopeful, as they parted once more.


	5. Chryslice

Chan felt like a storm was hovering on the edge of his horizon. 

It wasn’t the fear of rain that kept him up however, but the anticipation of a conflict. Or maybe the end of one.

In his heart pulled two emotions, two paths to walk on for the next year of his life. 

On one shoulder, his little devil, whispering discontentment in its cage, preaching a desire for chaos that could cost him everything. On the other, his urgent angel, spelling out a life of contentment, of acceptance of his fate as a blessing given only to him. 

He wasn’t sure when losing his anger began to feel like losing a part of his identity. He wondered when it had become so ingrained into who he is-- this resistance.

He wondered what it would be like to live any other way.

His time away from Minho and Hyunjin had left him longing in a new way, an ache for something he never had. A little brother he worries about but can’t comfort, and a missed opportunity he was too stubborn to see. It haunted him now- this swirling salt in his gut, choking him with the possibility that it might all be too late. Perhaps 11 is too early to have these kinds of regrets, but what can Chan say?

In stressing he’s always been ahead of his time. 

….

Minho felt like falling.

Swirling around him was howling wind, his body loose and ready for the ground. 

The sun bearing down on his face as his hair whipped around, the sand and grit heavy in the air, he was suspended between the known impact of the hard earth and the unknown current of the air. On one hand the pain of bitterness felt so familiar: sweet lies slipping from his lips for the good conscious of others, sour tangs clinging to the back of his throat as he swallowed the truth. It was grinding but it was grounding. Comforting in the way only an old bruise can be.

On the other hand lied the vast uncharted land beyond: full of untold horror and unimaginable joy. Poised before him was the great gap between his dusty old road and the ragged cliff, and he wouldn’t know if he could fly unless he jumped. The only thing that was true was this: either he could choose to take a chance or he would die in chains.

But what is the greater tragedy: To fall free for only a moment, then to crash fully into the ground? Or to stay bound, only to realize that your only captor was yourself?

He couldn’t deny that he was moody these days. The confusion in his heart was palpable every moment he felt it beat, and he couldn’t help the frustration that built up as it pounded its unforgiving rhythm in his chest. His parents reached out, his brother shouted at him, his teachers begged for his attention. But nothing could penetrate the clang of the clock, time slipping by too fast to keep up, and too slow to calm down. It’s like his mind was on another schedule, and his body shifting to other shapes.

One day he was Lee Minho of old: dancing in the alleys, knocking heads with the neighborhood cats, throwing a teasing jab at anyone who got too close.

The next he was Lee Minho of new: reading poetry in silence, practicing his studies while serious, singing gently as he moved through the steps of proper defense. 

Most days he was a mix of both- playful laughter and solum study, wide eyes full of wonder and sharp glares to any who interrupted his peace. 

But some days he felt like nothing. 

No dance pulled at his feet, focus fluttered from his grasp, and he couldn’t make anyone happy. He didn’t please his parents with his dedication, nor did he brighten up his brother’s day with spirited play. He wallowed, lost and lonely in his transition, swallowed by the insecurity of time.

He felt like he couldn’t catch up quick enough to be an adult, nor could he let return to his childhood joy. 

“Oh we understand Minho, this is a hard time for everybody”

That’s what his mom always said- no need to worry dear, you're just like everyone else. But that was the trick of pain: it doesn’t care if it's shared.

And sometimes all her reassurances felt like were a dismissal of his ache. 

Can’t be too bad if everyone gets through it right?

So why did he always feel like he was walking alone?

And everyone wanted to know what was wrong? If this is so common then why is anything wrong?

Why, if everyone expects it, do they want you to fix it anyway?

It felt like hypocrisy, to pretend like this was nothing new and then demand an explanation for ‘where this attitude came from young man’.

But more than the expectations, Minho hated the questions because he had no answers. He didn’t want this lurching, this upheaval at any moment. Minho wondered how well the adults around him really remembered how rocky every step felt, how monumental each stumble. He cannot control his emotion, he can only temper his response, and sometimes it’s simply exhausting trying not to tip the boat. 

And nothing made him feel more frustrated then Chan. Hyunjin had been talking nonstop about the boy, bragging about how he helped get his former instructor replaced with a kinder and wiser old man. While Minho was thankful, the constant reminder of Chan’s kindness felt like a condemnation to him, like a mocking of how long it took him to realize that maybe something more between them can really begin. Eventually he told Hyunjin he just couldn’t take anymore chatter, and after a long session of pouting, that was that.

But now, as their boat lands on the familiar shore, Minho knows he can avoid it no longer. The sea breeze sweeps through his thick hair, and his stomach sinks. 

Anticipation of nothing and everything slogs through him, stiffening his limbs and fogging his mind. He felt like a robot programmed to walk on even as his circuits began to fry. His body had never felt heavier nor his mind lighter, like his thoughts were weightless clouds slipping through his fingers as his feet begrudged every move. 

He remembered the next hour in shattered moments and flashes of lightning. 

Chan’s gaze- piercing and puzzling, the race of his pulse against his skin, and the soft scent of the ocean in a storm. 

His mother’s hand on his shoulder- warm and weighty, pressing him back to the comforting ground and holding him back like a vice.

The sun over his head- burning and bright, heating his head until he felt one drop of sweat slide behind his ear.

Hyunjin’s sharp laugh- a mix of bubbles and squeaks, a gaggle of sounds that burst through the air like a refreshing splash against heated skin. 

By the time dinner was over Minho felt like he barely got enough time to record it all, much less understand what he was seeing. As he and Chan walked the long corridor to their room he didn’t so much deliberately ignore him as he walked in confused silence.

What he was conflicted about? Damned if he knew.

But when Chan reached out to brush his calloused fingers across Minho’s clenched fist, Minho could never mistake the electricity that burned through him.

Audibly gasping he jerked away, looking up to catch the tail end of shock cross Chan’s eyes.

“Sorry-- I just wanted to know if you were planning on bringing your suitcase in too?”

Minho puzzled over the statement for a second, before looking back and realizing that somewhere along the way he had stopped dragging the cursed thing behind him.

Groaning at his own humiliation and aching feet, Minho mentally prepared himself to gather his ego and body to walk back to get it. He was stopped by Chan’s gentle touch once more, and was held by an amused look. 

“Hey I’ll get it, how about you just go straight to sleep? You look like you need a little rest.”

A part of Minho wanted to argue, for what reason he wasn’t entirely sure, but in the end his own self interest won out against any argument his ego could make. 

“That would be nice thank you.”

Chan only nodded, looking almost more embarrassed by Minho’s polite acceptance than his odd behavior before that. 

So Minho dropped out of his shirt and pulled on old pajamas always stored here on the island for him, and hoped that the reset of the night would help him fare better tomorrow.

….

Chan woke up the morning a week in to their annual meet up and felt sick.

Dread was filling his mind, and he couldn’t escape it’s sticky grasp. Perhaps it was due to the fact that it was mandatory that Minho and him would spend all of today together alone. It wasn’t that he minded spending time with Minho, in fact they had a tentative bond through their respective cousins (Chan couldn’t help but feel his heart soar every time he heard a ‘Channie-hyung’ out of Hyunjin, especially when he was babbling on about how he finally beat Yeonjun in a match despite the fact that in swordplay he was number one!). 

But despite the peace there was tension. 

It was clear in every move they made, every look they shared. It was like a wire sparking between them, a tornado formed out of emotions hot and cold. 

They wanted to reach out, to touch, and to back away from the burn.

As far as Chan could tell Minho wasn’t trying to be tense, but just like him he was his own mix of desires, unsure of his next step.

It doesn’t help that it felt like they were under a pressure cooker- while other kids their age had time to figure out if they even wanted this, Chan and Minho had been grappling with this question for years. This push and pull was intrinsic to their understanding of each other, and now they were outgrowing its constraints.

Their chrysalis was cracking, their emotions too big for the walls they have built around each other. But it was painful, this writhing in a body too large for it’s protective shell. 

So they stumbled around each other, having moments of pleasant exchange and others of stunted silence, only mitigated by their cousins’ upbeat presence. 

An hour later Chan stood in the garden next to Minho, the poppies forming an orange red sea around them. Wind caused a wave to ripple through the greenery, and

Chan took a moment to appreciate the breath of the earth. 

“How is Felix? And you know… the other people of your kingdom?”

A stuttered but sweet question, Chan thought, and he considered his response quickly. 

“Still a rascal as always. Did I tell you about the time he tried to make smoothies?

Oh god, I thought poor Ms. Moon was going to be scraping blueberries off of various surfaces for a week! I swear if he didn’t have the face of an angel and a heart just as pure, he would have been flogged by Tuesday every Tuesday. But it’s hard to stay mad when he tells me the reason was that he wanted to make a special treat for my birthday.” 

Chan gave a chuckle at the memory of Felix’s stunned face while still blinking red sludge out of his eyes, and it was joined by Minho’s melodious giggle, amused just by the image portrayed. 

“Chan… what do you think about our situation now?”

Just like that the light atmosphere dropped down by the burden laid on its shoulders, squirming under the pressure.

There was not right answer and Chan knew this, but he couldn’t help but want to get a perfect one anyway. But if there was such obviously correct words to use here, they escaped him, and left him only with his own truth- if he would dare to know it. 

“I’m not sure. We care but we don’t love. I don’t think I even know you.”

Minho bristled a little. Sure, they weren’t as close as ‘lovers’ should be, but were they so far apart?

“Well I wouldn’t say I don’t know you. I’ve heard a lot about you from those closest to you, and I’ve interacted with you many times.”

Chan immediately knew this would not be the moment they solved anything. The air was too charged, yet their wants still too unsure. They were walking into a

battlefield with no goals, no end victory insight, simply war ahead. But the frustration was there, and it could no longer be ignored.

“I don’t know what you want me to say? I didn’t do this so stop setting me up for the blame.”

Now Minho was seething, he was trying to figure things out and yet here was Chan just trying to accuse him as if he wasn’t doing enough?

“I wasn’t trying to lead you anywhere dumbass! I just wanted to solve things. Is that too much to ask?”

Chan tried to push down his anger but knew he was already losing that lid, fingers curling at his side.

“I doubt you were really trying to fix things. I’m just your jailer right?”

Minho reeled back a little, unprepared to be slapped so strongly with his own prejudices. 

“And what am I then? Your ball and chain? Sorry all I am to you is your inability to be free!”

Now Chan was the one left spinning, a mix of ashamed and indignant, pride and will at war.

“Well i guess this answers it then. That’s what we are. Each other’s prison.”

At that silence fell, and for the next couple of minutes only the sun’s rays and resentment rested between them.

In a dramatic play, or fantastical story, this is where they would part, spurned but aching, rethinking their argument again and again. 

But in reality they had to spend the whole day together or they would be yelled at.

And they were 11.

So less then ten minutes of sullen silence later, they were both ready to make up. 

In a moment of bravery and humility Chan opened his mouth and blurted out,

“I think we could make pretty flower crowns out of these.”, pointing to the vibrant flowers around them. Taking it for the olive branch it was, Minho nodded, and even gave a tight smiled back. So they sat, making flower crowns for the rest of the afternoon, the quiet and even chatter washing away most of the leftover blow up. They talked small interests and bigger dreams over dinner as well, and refrained from telling even their cousins of the argument that occurred, out of embarrassment and a sense of privacy. 

So the rest of the week passed, both boys simmering but not prepared to blow up again. Even with the continued pressure they were able to learn quite a bit more about each other, and by the last day were a little sorry to see each other go. Hugging the cousins both boys gave a long embrace to their future family. With a strong parting head ruffle, Chan let go of Hyunjin and turned to Minho to have their final contact for the next year. 

This time Chan made sure to look him in the eyes and give him a real smile, opening his arms and asking Minho to come to him. Hesitant but determined, Minho scooted over into Chan’s embrace, and Chan basked in the gentle fabric pressed against him and the robust scent of ripe tangerines in the warm summer, until they had to pull away. 

As they departed for home once more, they had a lot to process and a lot to consider, their head and heart at storm. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks! Sorry this took longer for me to put out then expected but I got pretty sick so my head was not in writing mode lol. Hopefully I can pick up the pace a little coming up. Anyway hope you like this chapter:) I was kind of expecting this to be a more boring filler chapter but I ended up really liking it for some reason! The butterfly metaphor and description of puberty angst is honestly some top tier shit lmao. hopefully y'all feel the same. I'm excited for the next one as it's kind of the blowup for real, at least of this part of the romantic arc. I think it'll be good but we'll see when we get there lol. See ya soon!


	6. A rose blooms

Hope was a rose.

Its roots dug into your gut, its thorns pricked at your throat, its petals fell out of your mouth. 

It had gripped him in its grasp tightly, squeezing out his doubts and worries until all that was left was the desperate pounding of his heart.

Some days the confusion lingered, the bitterness was swallowed, but those days got rarer and rarer. 

The curses of fate that used to fall so easily from his lips stalled to a sputter, and in its place a mind that wondered.

What would love feel like? What joy could it bring? Could he choose him forever?

It was messy and sweet, and Chan was addicted to its pain.

The year had lagged behind him, his body in the in between. Sometimes life felt like progress, in the moments when he won his tournament and aced his exam. Other times it felt like swimming upstream, like when his arms grew too long and he had to learn to balance a sword that was now several inches farther away. 

Jisung and his relationship strained under a gap that used to seem so small. A couple of years felt like nothing when they both had only wanted to play pretend. Now Chan’s mind was always a million miles away. He tried to give his attention to everything he should, but his burdens never felt heavier, nor his patience thinner. 

Chan has always been an idol. An alpha who could fight, a son who could study, a friend that could be relied upon, a brother who could guide others. Perhaps the only thing he was never good about was being a mate. Maybe that's why he was almost anticipating his visit with Minho. 

In a world where Chan has always been seen as perfect, Minho’s low expectations felt like an island in the sun. No one pushed him anymore to be extra kind or audaciously caring to Minho. Never had being a failure tasted so delicious. Chan felt like most of his life he walked on a high wire, balanced between rebellion and blind obedience, trapped between disappointment and resentment. 

That wasn’t to say he didn’t love parts of his life: the lazy days braiding flowers with Felix, the long baths after practice with the praise of his instructor still buzzing in his mind, reading books with genuine interest and realizing there is so much more to know about this diverse world. In many aspects his life was full of joy and laughter, even if the shadows lingered longer in his mind.

Still, the pressure often got to him, causing him to snap at times when it wasn’t necessary. He was always quick to apologize, but Jisung’s watery eyes can’t be so easily forgotten. And Chan was the type to be haunted by his mistakes for an eternity, adding to the weight he constantly carried. 

As he walked now down by the same vibrant trees he’s trailed along for years, his chest stuttered out a discorded rhythm, and his mind was whirling as it did the last visit. But as they grew nearer it began to clear, the pressure in his lungs leaking out. It was only Minho and his piercing gazes and random outbursts, his personality caring and contrary at all times. 

There was reassurance in the routine, the simple consistency of his cheeky attitude and subtle distrust. They danced in circles but both never gave a real fight, neither willing to risk peace and even more unwilling to actually take a chance. Both knew it was no longer anger that held them back, but fear. 

When they broke into the clearing and Chan saw Minho already there he thought it would all be the same. Yet today Minho wouldn’t look up. Never had he failed to give him a challenge at the start, eyes up in defiance and critical consideration. Those honey eyes had burned holes into his body, images fading in face of their light.

But today those eyes remained down, inspecting the ground rather than Chan’s face. He had thought but moments ago that he would have been pleased to not be torn apart by that gaze on first sight. Life seemed determined to show him that that was far from right. He ached to force Minho’s head up, to push until Minho once again pushed back. 

They all exchanged greetings, Minho’s gaze meeting everyone's until he got to him. A couple mumbled words later they were headed inside for dinner and everything was  _ not _ right. Minho barely talked even to Hyunjin, his lips remaining tight. Chan didn’t realize how hard he was staring until Jisung’s pointy elbow dug into his ribs, companioned by a quick “lay off”. 

But how could Chan function as normal when he was being so clearly ignored? Not just him, but anyone could see Minho was uncomfortable in a way he had never seemed before. He looked like he was sitting wrong in his own skin, like he was reeling from missing a sharp step. Chan felt helpless simply sitting there, trying to stomach the offered food. 

When they all got up to leave Minho was surprisingly quick, feet disappearing behind the door before Chan had even fully sat up. Chan immediately moved to follow without the same speed, trying not to look desperate. But this silence was already rubbing at him, and Minho’s worrying behavior only added to that. 

When he opened the door to the room Minho was already in bed, obviously having already rushed through his nighttime routine. There was once a time when Minho told him that he would never wash his face for less than two minutes at a time. Chan had done all that rushing but now that he was here he didn’t know what to do, thinking about it while he moved through his own routine. 

When he finally crawled under the covers his mouth opened and then closed, body in a tense line under the soft covers. Finally the pressure was too much to hold in, a question burning his tongue as it fired out of his mouth.

“Are you okay Minho?”

The silence on the other side was deafening. It lasted several long seconds until a quiet voice spoke up from Minho’s turned back.

“Yes, I’m fine thank you.”

The polite tone felt like cold water, swallowing Chan until he felt like a smoldering wick. Suddenly feeling very tired, Chan turned over to face the gentle light from the window. Nothing more was said.

…

The coldness lasted four days. It’s chill weighed heavily on Chan’s mind, the fretful glances Minho gave him caught the corner of his eye. But the moment Chan’s attention turned fully on him, Minho was always looking away, his body closed off for conversation. Chan had thought they were past this cold war long ago!

And truth be told, he hadn’t realized how much he craved Minho’s attention. Even a glare felt better than this cut off interaction. There was a longing that was building in his chest and spreading to the tips of his fingers. They ached to brush against a shoulder, to hold Minho’s face between their grip and force those eyes on him. This time the build was too much to stifle by mere doubt, and he knew at the next opportunity they would have to really talk. 

That time presented itself the next morning, both parents clearing their throat in a purposeful manner. Chan’s mother began the order disguised as a proposition, starting off in a placating tone. 

“Now boys today is a day you need to spend together. The king and I won’t tell you  _ how _ to spend your day, as you're getting a little old for that, but we expect it to be done with each other.”

Chan glanced at Minho, noting his clenched fist and long eyelashes covering his cheek. He nodded for both of them, ignoring Jisung and Hyunjin’s worried gazes. As they both stood up, Chan decided to simply speak to Minho if he would not truly converse with him.

“I was thinking we could just spend some time walking in the forest today. It is a pleasant temperature out.” 

It was stilted but not as awkward as Minho’s jerky nod, Chan barely holding back his snort. Didn’t Minho get over seeing him as some boogieman years ago? But maybe he had never left behind this conflict narrative, one that told of resistance and forced pleasantry. Perhaps they would be doomed to repeat this same cycle of sadness. But Chan didn’t want that. He simply couldn’t live a life of only this coldness.

Their legs carried them farther into the summer sun and foliage, but their minds were in isolated corners worlds apart. A breeze blew through, scattering leaves in the wind and making Chan’s curls whip around. Here the silence felt more peaceful than icy, and it helped Chan calm down and rethink the confrontation he was planning.

Minho was still silent but seemed more peaceful as well, less mysterious in the warm sunlight. Soon Chan began to enjoy the company and the walk, and for a moment he was ready to throw all his old feelings away. But perhaps the years had made him wiser than that, because he knew that words untold meant that peace could never last. 

So he strategized his start, thinking carefully about how to bring everything up and not trigger Minho’s automatic defense that wouldn’t allow him to open up. In the end he knew to get trust you have to give trust, and the only beginning he could give that would allow Minho to divulge his feelings was offering up a vulnerable truth of his own. 

It was frightening to think about taking that risk. Some would say those who open themselves up are weak. Chan knew those people were fools. It took courage to be a person who expressed their emotions so rawly. Hyunjin had confessed to him that others had called him a crybaby, and Chan had told him what he surely knew: it was easy to be cold. Those who walled up their hearts and buried their feelings were those who were too scared of being hurt to risk being exposed. True strength was vulnerability. True courage was daring to be bare. 

So Chan would be brave.

“Minho I wanted to talk.”

The anxiety made a comeback onto Minho’s face, and once again Chan was tempted to stop. But his mind knew he couldn’t, even as his heart shook against his ribs.

“I think we should discuss our relationship with each other. To be honest, this coldness between us makes me ache. I’d rather at least be friends than nothing else.”

Minho clenched his hand into his long pink sweater, his posture self-soothing as he seemed to steel himself to answer.

“I agree that we need to talk. This year has left me time to think and I just… I’m not sure what to do anymore! What do you want from me? Do you even know? Do I even know?”

As his speech went on it grew more frenzied, his eyes widening as he began to spill out the words that had been pressing inside him.

“Chan I just don’t think we can  _ be _ more but I’m sure we can’t stay as we are. So all I’m left with is insecurity and time to grow frustrated all the more!”

Chan felt a little startled by the rapid response after the calm of the afternoon, but he felt his own long held feelings begin to push out.

“Look I get your hesitance I really do. Fate, or maybe just our kingdoms, has forcefully pushed us together and robbed us of our choice. I’m mad too! But maybe we can at least come together to fight against our unfair fate.”

Chan had thought Minho would quickly agree. In fact he thought Minho would be pleased at the acknowledgement of the unfairness he’s faced, and the opportunity to finally move against it.

Chan was very wrong.    
What had started as frustration had morphed into anger on Minho’s face, jaw flexing as he clenched his teeth before opening his mouth.

“Is that really what you want? To stage some little rebellion and just be friends? I don’t know about you but I actually want a partner! How can you act like you would be alright to live a life without love?”

Minho’s body began to quiver, and his torso learned so far into Chan he could feel the heat radiating off his skin. 

“You may not have the chance to choose who you love in this lifetime- but you have the chance to learn to love ME! Is that not just as good? Or do you value your bitterness over your lack of freedom more than the opportunity right before you?”

Chan froze, his stomach swirling trying to digest what had just been thrown at him.

But this world had no time for compromise, and he was never the type to let unease stop him from acting where he should.

“I could love you. I will love you. Don’t you understand that that’s the scariest part?”

Minho blinked rapidly, his mouth in a loose part. His hand that had been turning white against his flush chest dropped down to his side. 

“Minho… you’re mine, and I’m yours. But I’ve been yours long before I trusted you to hold me. I know you’re scared too, but that doesn’t change that it terrifies me how much of each other we have been given before we could form the desire to protect it.”

Chan took a long breath in, not giving himself any time to overthink this until his brain burned itself out. 

“So let me ask you-- let me give you what choice I can-- will you hold my heart Lee Minho? 

Will you stay by my side long past the time I can give you anything of note? Will you trust me enough to be mine?”

Minho twisted his hand together, suddenly overwhelmed by the choice he has always craved.

But here in the silent forest, looking at Chan’s pleading eyes and kind face, he wonders if it’s not impossible to perform his greatest act of forgiveness. Swallowing it all would hurt, but in exchange for this feat he could gain a future he might actually look forward to. 

Letting go of his resentment would be the hardest thing he has ever had to do, but any other way forward would only be leading himself into a world of hurt of his own design.

It could all turn out poorly, of course, but it would be so very comforting to let himself fall into Chan with trust.

Open and honestly, completely and absolutely. 

A giving not of just his heart.

But of his whole.

He hesitates to think about it, but there is nothing else to say.

“Yes. But if I give myself to you Bang Chan, then you should know I’ll never let you go.”

Chan reached out his hand to take Minho’s in his, doing what felt right.

“Then so be it. Never turn away from me, and you’ll have me forever in return. From now on we’ll belong to each other. As time passes, we will figure out everything that could mean.”

It was a vow that echoed through the trees, one that sealed an actual promise on their heart. Not one of obligation, nor a feat of fate. It was their choice, and their commitment. And in here lies their true start.

…

One might expect of course, that this is the end. They learned to let go, made a promise, and agreed to really give each other a chance.

However there was one main problem: they still barely knew each other. 

The chill of fear and uncertainty had evaporated, but in its place was sheer, pathetic, awkwardness. 

Minho swore he had never been so stiff in his life!

Holding back those snarky comments also sucked up any familiarity they had with each other. If they weren’t poking fun then what the hell were they doing?? Minho felt like all his social knowledge had walked out the door and didn’t even bother to say goodbye.

Yes hello social grace? It’s Minho talking, he’d like to know where the hell you went.

The small talk, oh lord the stilted exchanges about the weather!

Never did he want to hear the words “yeah looks sunny out right now” again!

He even heard Hyunjin snicker behind their back every once in a while, that fucker. Let him try to learn how to talk to the man whom he just promised to love for the rest of his life!

Minho supposed it was easier if you loved them in the first place.

But the truth is Minho didn’t know Chan enough to love him, and he highly suspected Chan was the same. They had lived so long resenting the image of the other that they hardly knew the man behind the figure. Minho knew Chan was kind and helpful, and a good swordsman. Hardly the basis for a deep relationship. 

But by Gods they were trying. The next week they spent more voluntary time alone than ever, and mostly bonded over their shared affection for their cousins. If there was a side of each other that they  _ had _ seen, it was their relationship with them. They teased their cousins about their childish rivalry, and even laughed when their responding pouts were identical. 

Yet the sheer uncomfortableness was always there. It was in the weird jokes Minho made when Chan just stared in response, it was when Chan would get excited to talk about new techniques and Minho’s eyes would glaze over in seconds. They talked for longer sure, but during most of it they simply missed one another completely. 

By the time the last day rolled around, both were filled with relief once again. Ashamed to feel this after promising to give Chan a chance, Minho tried to pretend that he wasn’t happy to finally just go. However, Chan was quick to reassure him that really, it was mutual.

“Hey Minho so I guess we kind of suck at this liking each other stuff.”

Minho snorted, but also took a bit of offense. He may agree, but he never liked to hear that he, the Lee Minho, sucked. 

“Maybe we could… exchange letters or something? That way we won’t have only two weeks to try and learn how to be in love?”

Letter… now that could work. How can they grow with each other if the only time they had to learn one another was two weeks in summer?

“Yes I would like that. How about you send the first one and I’ll be sure to write back.”

Chan looked visibly relieved at his compliance, and when he moved toward Minho he did so with a genuine grin. Minho was…  _ not  _ ready for that kind of attack. He didn’t blush of course, but the sun was hot enough to leave him a little flush. The fact that the red only grew stronger as he wrapped his arms around Chan’s firm middle? Totally a coincidence. 

As they parted and he watched Chan board onto the boat lazily bobbing in the sea, Minho felt a bit of giddiness sneak up his throat. The bubbles of anticipation fizzed in this gut, the potential for a better future now looking more promising than ever. 

Was it too much to say that he felt… hope?

Maybe not. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello :) I know this might look like their end get together scene but it's really not! I think of this like their real start, so their finally out of the negative points lol. Anyway it will all evolve from here, so I hope you like this more hopeful chapter.


	7. Heartbeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone:) Very sorry for the late update I couldn't believe it when I check how long it has been and it was almost three weeks. I was just putting a lot of effort in another fic and it wasn't getting a lot of feedback, so I stalled out a little, but then I remembered that I do love writing and I love these characters I've made so I'm coming back strong I hope! This was a cute update to write and the next one will be just as sappy fyi. I still have more angst planned, but I never write a sad ending, so for now lets be happy! Hope everyone is staying safe and sane.

Writing his first letter to Chan was like giving birth.

It was painful, embarrassing, and wouldn’t come out no matter how much he pushed. Well that’s what Minho thought giving birth was like. He supposed he’d find out one day. Oh God, Okay enough of that, yep that’s something Minho will most definitely bottle up until he  _ has _ to think about it. But long story short Minho took a whole two months writing the letter, and even then he wasn’t very satisfied with the end result. 

Sure it had no spelling or grammar errors, but none of it felt right. Either he would start writing about something mundane and then it was much too long and pointless, or he started with his sincere feelings about something and had to scrap it halfway through out of embarrassment. His nerves were getting the best of him at every word, his mind creating images of Chan reading it with a look of disgust or pity.

Finally, he pushed through. He wrote a letter that was a mix of mundane and sincere, one that he could read without cringing but still conveyed what he actually wanted to say. Of course now he was anxious about how long this took him to write and if Chan would judge him for that, but not everything can be perfect. That day that was now months ago, he promised to take a leap of faith for Chan. For their future… together. 

Excitement and dread mixed in his belly in equal parts, a hunger for more and a fear of being overwhelmed. It didn’t help that he was finally reaching the peak of his growth, body transforming into something he didn’t really know. Sometimes he just felt so alienated in his own skin, unsure of his own emotions. It felt like he was looking in the mirror and learning something new. People had stopped treating him as just a child and more as a young adult, a being bursting with unexpected responses and new shapes. He felt like his face was flickering in the light of a flame, one moment showing the gaze of an adult, the next the innocence of a child.

It was in the way he looked at the world, but it was also in the way the world looked at him. Instead of cute he began to be told he looked beautiful, and rather than a pat on the head people gave him a bow. It was in the caution children had around him, no longer simply one of them. It was in the slight fear in his mother’s kind eyes, laughing slowly and talking about how he is growing so fast that he will be leaving before she can blink. It was in the caution and the respect, the expectations and the responsibilities, the freedom and the independence.

Minho felt like the world was looking at him with a whole different lense, and it scared him to not know how to behave accordingly. He tried to let the world guide him to the places he should be and the emotions he should show, but it often felt like a long test he was bound to fail. Sometimes however, it felt like he was stepping off a cliff only to realize that there was a ledge right below him. He was spreading his wings which had already been bursting free, and he was about to take flight. 

As he moved to open Chan’s response a month after he had sent his, he wondered which he would feel when reading this. 

_ Dear Minho, _

_ Thank you for the local treats as well as the letter, you didn’t have to apologize for the late response. Especially after trying to write this, I understand that this is a difficult process. I am glad to hear that Hyunjin is faring better on his training exams, please tell him that I’m proud of how far he’s come. Also I can’t say I know how it feels to have a crown prince as a little brother who tries to boss you around, but I can relate to having a brat as one. The other day Felix hid all my work boots and wouldn’t let up their location until I performed a thorough tickle torture session. I swear he is getting more and more mischievous every year. I hope Seungmin stops correcting your every grammar error soon for your sanity's sake.  _

_ I think dance is a great passion to have, as you know performing at poetry battle’s has been a long held joy of mine. I hope to see one of your routines one day, I’m sure they will be polished and pretty. Or maybe you're into that modern street dance these days, in which case I’m sure it will be powerful and skillful. As for studying, yes I have read that “dreaded god awful chunk of writing” called The Scarlet Letter, and I know this might frustrate you but I quite liked it. The themes were poignant and the prose quite riveting. Still I know I hold a fonder place in my heart for literature than you do, so please don’t think I’m judging your distaste.  _

_ As for your feelings on how new everything feels, and your nerves about becoming an adult and being in a relationship with me, I completely understand. I also feel a distance between myself and my image, and feel weighed down by these increasing obligations and expectations. So let’s make a deal: No rules on how to act in our relationship. Let's meet each other with open minds and hearts, and forget about where we are supposed to be or what we should feel. I want to learn who you are free of who others think you should be, and I hope you are curious enough to want the same. I look forward to hearing from you soon. _

_ Yours, _

_ Christopher Bang Chan. _

__ Minho’s heart leapt at the last paragraph and the sign off, the gentle reminder that they belong to each other now, not as crown prince and consort, but as people. He couldn’t help the reddening of his cheeks nor the way he traced along the paper as he reread it again and again. He prepared his paper right away, determined to give a response that would make Chan feel the same way. 

So they exchanged letters back and forth for the next 9 months, their responses increasing as they learned how to speak to one another with ease. As the time for set off came, Minho couldn’t help his anxious tapping or the constant jolt of his knee, the boat ride feeling much longer and shorter than it did before. They walked the path to the house and Minho tried not to bolt, reminding himself that he had just been chatting with Chan the week prior, even if he hadn’t seen his face in a year. 

Chan hadn’t changed as much as Minho. While he definitely had grown some and looked more mature, Minho had made a sharp shift into adulthood in the year prior, most likely because Omegas were known to develop rapidly once their time came. While his first heat was still at least a year or so away, he knew he had begun to gain the features of his adult self. That’s probably why Chan took such a long pause just staring at him for a minute before doing the usual greetings, looking a little more flushed then what’s typical. Minho thought that that kind of response would be exciting, but he finds himself simply craving Chan to be comfortable with him, wanting to learn more about him without any awkwardness hanging around. 

They go to have the customary dinner and once again Chan avoids his eyes, talking more to Hyunjin and Jisung as usual. In frustration Minho eats much more than his fill, instantly regretting it when he feels like he should roll rather than walk to the bedroom. Tired and more than a little grumpy at his cold welcome, Minho stomps his way to his bed and curls up underneath like a kitten sulking in a corner. He closes his eyes tight, pretending he can’t hear it when Chan steps into their shared room. 

He keeps pretending even as he feels a pressure on the bed beside him, and even when a gentle hand lands on his shoulder.

“Minho I know you're awake now. Sorry I was a bit stiff. I wasn’t sure how to behave in front of our parents and cousins. And… Well things have kind of changed so I guess I didn’t know how to interact with you either.”

Minho finally relented on his silent protest, and opened his eyes to see Chan’s kind face haloed by the soft moonlight. For a moment he too didn’t know what to say, but he swallowed his jitters and spoke softly.

“I understand, but you wanted to meet while being open to one another and I’ve come as open as I can be. So I hope we can move past that and really talk.”

Chan gave him a brilliant smile that crested his eyes, and once again Minho felt an annoying tick in his heart. He hoped he was getting a heart attack and not stuck in a damn romance trope. Chan leaned down until he was laying next to him and gave him a push to scoot over. Minho just stared in disbelief at the gall of this boy who couldn’t even look at him an hour ago.

“You’re just gonna lay in my bed in your day clothes? Just track that dirt into my covers so I’m sleeping on gravel?”

Chan just grinned at him and snuggled in further, long since past the sting of Minho’s sharp tongue. Thank god for 5 years of bickering or he might really think he’s unwelcome. 

“Oh shush I know you didn’t have time to wash up either before you decided you had the acting chops to play possum.”

Minho scoffed, thoroughly offended by the idea that he didn’t pull off “slightly grumpy boy sleeping soundly” with excellent follow through!

“Whatever. How was your last evaluation? I know you were worried about it. And did Woojin get his position or is that dumb ass still telling him he doesn’t know enough techniques?”

Chan’s eyes were staring straight through him, his pale skin practically glowing in the dark room. His lips were curled in a gentle smirk, and excitement played across his youthful face.

“My evaluations went well, although I can’t tell if it’ll be enough for my instructor to pass me to the next rank anytime soon. Woojin is still working on it, but if I know anyone will get there it’s him, he doesn’t even know the word give up. How was Hyunjin’s studies going? I heard you were trying to tutor him in the natural sciences since he was falling behind.”

Minho blinked slowly taking it all in, then scrunched his face at the memory of the headache he occurred trying to teach his stubborn cousin cell structure. 

“Ugh terrible. Hyunjin is bright but also so, so stupid. If I ever hear the word Lipid again I will get trauma flashbacks to our screaming matches. Luckily learning dance from Yunhui is going much better for both of us.”

Chan and Minho continued on until late in the night, not even noticing as they slowly curled towards each other on the slim bed. They fell asleep hands linked underneath the blankets and foreheads pushed together on one pillow, the soft dawn light illuminating their tender hold.

…

Minho and Chan had chatted most of the nights since then, growing out of their old shells like a new sprout in spring, delicate and vernal. Chan was glad to have made the step forward that night, even if he got a pimple the next morning as punishment for forgetting to wash his face. Minho was new and exciting, his giggles a pretty melody he had never heard and his wit funnier now that it’s razor edge has dulled a little. Sometimes he felt himself just stare a while, taken aback by details he had never bothered to know. 

It was Minho’s eyelashes that were so strikingly long, it was Minho’s boxy smile that turned sharply up at the edges, it was Minho’s endearing habits of head tilts and long blinks. Chan felt swept away in discovering a person he would grow to know better than any other, and felt hopeful about how far he could let him in as well. Minho seemed genuinely excited to hear about his life and struggles, cursing at those who caused him problems and clapping when he shyly talked about his accomplishments. It was hard to understand that there was a time when he thought the boy before him was cold. 

They trailed through forests together, learning fauna names from a little guide book Chan had brought along, and played in the stream with their vivacious cousins. They trekked back soaked, but couldn’t stop laughing at each other's wet hair, going so far as sneaking smears of mud on the other’s face when he was distracted. They read each other’s favorite book, discussing plots as they made their way through the journey, debating character types and poking fun at over the top interpretations. 

The two weeks together passed by in the blink of an eye, leaving both boys dreading their last night. If their parents noticed the rapid development in their relationship they didn’t say anything, but Chan figured his mother’s pleased hums wasn’t just about the fabulous parfait they were served each morning. Still time could never be stopped simply by one young boy’s wish, and the last morning the sun rose just like any other.

Chan looked out the window where the light was peaking above the dark tree tops, Minho by his side on the bed. The wind blew their mussed up hair and dried their already tired eyes. Chan reached out without looking for Minho's hand, treading their fingers together even as nothing was said. He sighed in a quiet gust, and squinted against the rays piercing his sensitive eyes. 

The world seems sharp yet soft, his palm balmy against Minho’s soft skin while his elbow ached where he rested it against the hard stone ledge. The orange of the sky bleed across the expanse, the black outline of trees turning into masses of jade glass, detail returning to the shapes of the night. The morning was cold but the blanket around his waist kept the worst of its bite at bay, and Minho’s presence felt warm beside him.

They stayed like that until a yell came from down the hall, and they both smiled and let go to get ready for the trip back. Breakfast was sweeter than usual, the berries melting when they used to just squish, the white lace tablecloth more beautiful than Chan remembered. It felt oddly dreamlike as he moved through the rest of his packing while sneaking glances at Minho, sometimes catching his eyes on him as well.

When they finally stood at the docks Chan felt his heartbeat strum like a string, fluttering with an unexpected thrill. Chan didn’t bother to wait for his mother’s request, moving to gather Minho in his arms as soon as the farewells had been said. And what a pleasure it was, to feel Minho’s pulse beat in the same rapid time as his own. He reluctantly let go of his warmth, the scent of honey and fresh citrus lingering long after Chan had turned away. As he walked up the plank all Chan could think about was that maybe he had cursed fate far too soon. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	8. Gentle Perfection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Here we are with another sappy chapter. Also my twitter was filled with Minchan posts today because of their two kids +1 room together and I was like yes, Minchan world domination thank you ma'am. If we get a Chan's room with Minho... Damn. I'll keel over. Just a quick disclaimer though, obviously this is a work of fiction and it's really like a universe I made up with Minho and Chan shaped characters lol, I know that Minho and Chan in real life are most probably just good friends and I support them as just that! Anyway with that out of the way, I hope you like this chapter which was a strong ball of fluff with a little angst in the middle. Next up: meeting while fully matured! (But note this is not marked for underage stuff so no worries about that).

Chan had read the books, he had heard the stories, but nothing had prepared him for falling in love. 

It was a rush of air to his lungs when he thought of Minho’s smile, it was the jolt to his heart when another letter arrived in the mail, it was staring off into space wondering what Minho was doing right at this moment. It made the sun shine a little brighter when it peaked out from the dark clouds that winter, it made him laugh at each joke a little longer, it made his days feel just a little more precious than they had a year before. He realized that love wasn’t a burst all at once, or an explosion inside him, it was a candle on the darkest days and a warmth that never left him completely cold. 

Maybe there would come a day when this strength left him, or the swell in his heart deflated in the clutch of his chest, but until that day he would accept the joy as it was given to him. Life was too short to constantly expect the worst of the future. So he took it second by second, trying not to let the anticipation of the next visit or letter make him lose sight of his own priorities apart from Minho. So he still visited friends, practiced hard, and read books in his off time, but it was easier said than done. Changbin would whine about how distracted he could get when they were chatting, and Jisung pouted when he would start daydreaming and forget what track they were working on. 

But when love is new it burns like a lantern, and he was but a moth caught up in it’s fiery gaze. So he wrote sappy poetry he never intended to send, and giggled a little longer when he was alone in his bed, and accepted the gentle fog that lingered over him. Despite his new found joy there were still moments when it felt like nothing was right with the world, and one of the biggest was the time that January when his teacher failed to pass him onto the next sparring level. 

He had known he was a bit behind, his teammates parrying his attacks just a little better than before, his swings coming a little too late. He wasn’t bottom of his year for sure, but more was expected of their crown prince than average. So in front of his whole year, his instructor admonished him, and told him he wouldn’t move on until he had improved a significant amount than before. In that moment it had felt like the sky was crumbling down around him, like he had finally been exposed as a fraud of a perfect prince. 

“You are better than what you're giving right now Prince Chan, and until you can show me much more than this half assed display I will not approve you for your next rank. You are meant to lead us into battle, and I cannot tolerate you being anything less than perfect.”

He had heard the words before of course, had heard the same sentiment in some way his whole life.

“It’s not that I want to be harsh on you for manners dear, it's only that your people will expect you to represent yourself perfectly in front of foreign dignitaries and you need to learn this now.”, his mother had told him when he was 5.

“I’m not trying to overwhelm you my lord, but this knowledge could be the difference between agreement and war, and you need to know everything you can about foriegn politics so you can be the prince this country needs.”, his tutor warned him when he was 6.

“It’s time for you to take up the sword now my son. I wish I could wait longer to teach you this violent art, but war will wait for no one, and you need to be ready to be the leader this nation needs you to be.”, his father had instructed him when he was 7.

It had all come back to his position, and a need for perfection. And here he was, demoted and everyone knows it, not able to be the man he was meant to be. So he broke down. He didn’t cry or shut himself into his room, he simply shut down. He followed commands and duties but sought no one out in between. He practiced until his hands split open, uncaring for the light that faded out around him as he beat the practice dummies long into the night. He moved faster, hit harder, did better than ever before. But he didn’t smile at Jisung’s little teases, and he didn’t hop with joy when his mother had his favorite meal prepared, and he barely even finished his letter to Minho, the words rote and filled with little passion. 

He could hear parents worriedly whispering behind him when he turned to leave, and saw Jisung’s sad look out of the corner of his eyes, but he couldn’t understand why. Wasn’t he being everything they wanted? What they expected? Was it not enough to be perfect- was he to be always smiling while he did it? He was the perfect prince, what his people desired, what his nation needed. He did not waver even though he knows now that everyone found out he isn’t what he tried so desperately to appear. He kept his chin up as a prince should, even if it took cutting everyone else out.

It continued like this for a month until his parents cornered him one night, insistent that he come with them to their private rooms which he had not seen since he was 5. He wasn’t sure what they were going to do there, but he had a feeling it was about his current behavior, and he felt a frustration well up inside him. Would he ever be enough? If they were taking him in here to lecture him, he wasn’t sure if he could just stand there and take it. But when he went to sit down on the chair by the fireplace, they both only looked sad. His mother's voice spoke up first, tone solemn. 

“Tell me my beautiful son, where did we go wrong? You have not smiled in so long it feels like the sun has set before it has risen. I miss my giggly boy who would laugh at any antic Jisung could think of, I miss knowing you were happy. We thought maybe you were just focusing until you got your next rank, but you achieved that last week and nothing else has come. So all I am left with is blame, a guilt over what we must have done to push you to this place devoid of love.”

Chan felt a hot swell in his throat, and his eyes ached as they grew wet. When his voice came out it was rough with the raw emotion he had been swallowing for a long time. 

“Is it enough? Am I perfect enough to be the prince? Do I fight well enough to lead my people, do I know enough to negotiate peace, do I have enough manners to represent our whole nation? Doesn’t everyone already know I’m just a pathetic little boy?”

He couldn’t help the way his voice broke off at the end, or the way he clung to his parents arms as they came around him. It had felt like resting after a long sprint, like he hadn’t felt their true love and support in a long time. As he calmed himself he heard sniffles from both sides of his head, and it was obvious that his relief and grief were shared. As his parents pulled back to look at him once more, both of their faces were scrunched, eyes rimmed red. They all took some time to regain their composure before his father spoke up.

“Oh Channie, we’re so sorry we ever made you feel like you’re not enough. You make us proud every day, every moment, even when you’re struggling with something. And I’m sorry about the burden we have made you bear from such a young age, making it sound like your every action must be perfect for your people, forgive us Chan, we are just foolish parents thinking they were helping their son by forcing him to prepare as quickly as possible for the eventual weight he must hold. We should have known we were only crushing you before you could stand.”

Chan shook his head, not able to bear his parents blaming themselves any longer when he had known all along that they only had his happiness and security in mind.

“No please, I know you meant well. And it isn’t all the time I feel so insecure but… I suppose losing my rank in public just set me off. It made me feel like everyone had found out I wasn’t good enough. But I know you guys love me regardless.”

They had talked long after that into the night, sharing old stories and soothing new wounds, and after that his parents had made sure to praise him at every turn, reminding him that they knew he was always trying harder and harder.

Since then the year had passed quickly, and when he stepped off of the ship and onto the island it had felt like hardly any time was spent at all. Still he couldn’t help the eager edge to his gait as he climbed the last steps to the mansion he knew so well. When they reached the final clearing Minho and his family were already there, his mate looking stunning in the spotlight framed by the trees. He was happy to see an impatient tap of Minho’s foot, glad to know that he wasn’t the only one anticipating this visit. 

When Chan’s family called out in greeting Minho wiped around, and the two shared a giddy look. Minho had grown again, into what was probably his final height. He even looked a little taller than Chan, which made him pout. Chan knew Minho hadn’t reached full maturity as he hadn’t had his first heat, which Minho complained endlessly about in his letters. He wasn’t sure if Minho wanted his heat to come or simply wanted his mother to stop fussing about whether or not her son is ‘special’ aka dysfunctional. He wasn’t that late of a bloomer, but it would be a big surprise if he didn’t have his heat this upcoming year. 

Chan hadn’t experienced his first rut either, but that was more typical as Alphas matured slightly slower than Omegas. Often an Alpha would hit his rut at 15, while omegas it was typical to be fully matured 13. Minho still seemed awfully young to Chan, but he knew that growth happened quickly at this age, and next year he could come back completely different. Chan only hoped that the added hormones wouldn’t complicate things too much, he rather liked their long chats about the crazy antics of their cousins and banter about what ice cream flavor would beat each other in a fight. Life would be boring if it was all about romance.

So he was grateful for this youth they spent together, smiling through dinner and laughing all through the night as Minho filled him in on stories that were better told in person. The stone walls echoed with their giggles, the moonlight bore witness to their gentle bloom of young love. It was sweet, the words they saved for each other, the way they held one another, the joy they brought the other. It seemed small, the chats they shared and the stories spoken, but words told with care held a new meaning, a preciousness like each line was a gift meant for only one. 

The next morning they painted together, designing silly self-portraits and teasing each other about how much the misshapen forms resembled the other. 

“I think you’ve captured your nose perfectly Chan really, no honestly it's always that big.”

“Well your lips are just picture perfect here then Minho, larger than your whole chin.”

The fond glances they shared between each barb said much more than their words. Jisung and Hyunjin had long since left them alone, tired of their “weird old people vibe” as they went off to try to fish in the stream with only a string and a bottle cap. Chan had wished them luck with a laugh on his lips, wondering if he was as willing to waste time when he was that young. Then he turned back to his scribbled portrait that was quite frankly a waste of paper, and he thought maybe we never really grew out of being foolish, but just had less time to indulge in it. The day was unusually warm even for the season, sun pouring in from the high windows in the study and making sweat drip down his back. He closed his eyes, sleepy in the thick heat of the midday. When he felt another head press onto his shoulder and long dark hair tickle his throat, he simply kept his eyes closed with a smile, and drifted off. 

…

The first week had passed so quickly Minho didn’t even want to think about the fact that they only had 5 days left. This past year had felt a little long and a little short, he remembers thinking it was long but looking back on it it didn’t feel like anything worth remembering occurred. Sure, there was that moment when Suengmin face planted into the main plaza’s fountain after getting cocky while horse riding, and there was that night when everyone was sure he had started his heat and they practically threw a party until he started coughing and they realized it was just an actual illness, but other than that it was kind of bland.

The best part was, as loathe as he is to admit it, Chan and his letters. The nerves he got when he received a letter was annoying, but he had to admit they made him feel alive. The gentle swell of excitement he got when even thinking about Chan and if Chan was thinking of him in return was invigorating, and he enjoyed the sensation. Maybe it wasn’t quite love yet, but it was the tendrils of it. A seed had been long planted, and he knew its sprout might already be here to stay. And as Chan and him wasted the lazy days together simply laughing and chatting with each other, it grew just an inch more. 

At dinner that night Chan and him were playing around with flicking their folded napkins back and forth, only stopping to grin at each other between matches. As they fooled around, his mother spoke up, her voice slightly amused.

“Keep up all this giggling up and someone would think you have a crush Lili!”

Minho didn’t even glance at her, nonchalant at the idea of his “crush” being exposed to a boy he already vowed to love forever. 

“And why wouldn’t I have a crush on my fated mate?”

Neither Minho nor Chan looked up to see their parent’s faces, and thus were unaware of their stunned expressions, both assuming that they had been obvious in their growing affections. As their parents shared a look Minho’s mother spoke up again, this time voice firm.

“Alright I guess it's time for you boys to stop sharing a room then. You both don’t seem to need the time to grow closer, especially in a shared bed.”

This got Minho’s attention as he stared at his mother in outrage.

“Mother you can’t! Me and Chan finally grow to like each other and you punish us by separating us and denying us time to spend together? That is  _ so  _ unfair!”

His mother remained firm although her gaze softened, reminding Minho that this wasn’t a punishment but a necessary precaution. While neither has quite matured, their instincts towards each other would be strong, and there could be nothing that would jeopardize their wedding ritual. Even the implication made both boy’s ears burn, the thought not something they wanted to discuss with their parents. Deciding that was enough, Minho shut up, but that night he felt like he couldn’t get warm no matter how much he tucked himself in. 

As their last day came, the morning rays found them sitting under a large oak tree, Chan’s back laying against rough bark and grass itching Minho’s legs, yet both boys felt comfortable leaning on each other in the bright light of the blinding sun. Chan’s hand was on Minho’s thigh rubbing soothing circles into it, and Minho closed his eyes at the gentle touch. It felt like that moment stretched on forever, their heads balanced and their bodies warm. Even when he heard Chan’s father’s yell to come say goodbye and get on the boat, Minho felt settled as the peace of the moment lingered inside him. 

When it came time to say farewells, both boys clung onto each other for as long as they could before they grew too uncomfortable under their parent’s joyful stares. Chan’s arms were more muscular than before, and his palms seemed rough even over the fabric of Minho’s shirt. Minho wondered if Chan also thought about his hands, softer and smaller even though he stood just a little bit taller. Before he could dwell too long Chan had pulled away, his smile just as blinding as the harsh light around them.

Minho gave him as big of a smile in return as he could bear, and watched his back as he walked back up to his ship home. The idea that it would be a whole year before he saw Chan again felt too overwhelming to think about, so he tried to treasure the last sight of blond hair and the scent of gentle waves which clung to his sleeves still. As he turned to leave back to his own ship, he wondered what they would be like when they met again. 


	9. Summer heat, ocean breeze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi so sorry this took a while. I was on a bit of a break but I'm excited to be back! Also I just suck at keeping schedules which I'm sure is obvious. On another note I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as it's quite a happy one. While I'm enjoying it, I will just say stock up on this joy for a while we might be getting into a bit of a drought :):) :):):):):):). Anyway this one is kind of sappy at the end, but honestly I just feel like Bang Chan is a sappy fellow so I think it fits. See you guys soon (I hope :/) and as always please leave a comment if you'd like to chat or give a little encouragement!

It came like a fire in the night, sweeping him away and burning under his skin.

In a way he had been preparing his whole life, in a way he could never be ready. The mark of maturity, the full awakening of his destiny, his first heat. It occurred during late fall, and for that he was grateful, knowing his two heats a year would be in October and April rather than in a summer month. His mother’s had occurred in August, and he remembers the sympathetic groans she would get when she told others. 

As he felt the cool breeze from his window cross his fevered skin, he knew now why the seasons were important to an omega. His thoughts melted in his head, puddles forming where they used to lie solid in his mind. It felt like a mess inside him, each part of his body pounding with only an ache for something  _ more. _ He recalled his mother coming in to help him wash and drink water and little else, the three days passing with only damp blankets and tense muscles to remember it by. 

After it was over, his family held a large banquet in celebration, but he could hardly eat over the smell of the other nobles near him. Their personal scents were overwhelming to his already swimming head. It felt as though he was wading through a dense cloud, the swirls of fog surrounding him and clustering around his thoughts. He wished it had been a bit more gradual, this transformation into someone who could feel the full force of the world around him. 

After dinner he lied in his bed, allowing the sweet calm of night to put him at ease. He used to love to mingle, blossoming around those he loved the most. But for this past week the only one he could really stand was Seungmin, his undeveloped beta brother’s scent mild enough to not bother his temperamental state. Seungmin had actually been quite kind about it, chatting with him in the evenings to fend of his boredom while remaining stable. 

In a way it was nice to bond again, the necessity allowing them to reconnect in a time when they both had forgotten to take the chance to stop and talk. They had laughed and teased, Seungmin’s comments on his “delicateness these days” slipping off Minho’s back when Seungmin’s tone was so coated in fondness. One night Minho even opened up about his fears now a days that he doesn’t like to admit, often feeling like he shouldn’t be so doubtful about his role when he has already been promised it his whole life.

“It's not that I think Chan will reject me, it's not even that I think Duralin will reject me, but I can’t live a life being accepted out of duty, even if I’d have a place of my own. It just bothers me that while Chan seems sweet, and I have to admit I like him a lot, the prospect that we can’t fall out of love for the next 60 years is terrifying, and now that I’ve presented I know we are one large step closer to the seal that will hold us together forever.”

Seungmin was silent during his ramble, his patience always rather remarkable for not even reaching his teens yet. Perhaps it was their parents demands that stalled his tongue, the weight his words could hold already making it lay heavy in his mouth. Whatever it was, it always made Minho feel heard, his problems considered carefully, and in times like this he was grateful for his brother’s presence. 

“I can’t say I know what it feels like to be destined to be wed to a particular person my whole life, as you know my partner will be one of the only choices that will be purely mine, but I know a thing or two about duty and it will follow us both our whole lives. While I can’t say what lies ahead of you for sure, I don’t think you should worry too much before it actually occurs. After all, it was not long ago that you were sure you would never be in love at all.”

Minho paused, unsure if that was a statement that settled him or made him feel like the walls were closing in tighter. He listened to the fire crackle in the hearth beside them, the velvet cushion underneath him growing hot. He knew life was uncertain, and he had to accept that, but it felt like too much to ask for him to simply not worry. Is he supposed to forget the bad possibilities and just focus on the good?

“Yes I know anything can happen for good or for bad, and that duty will always be a question we have to answer carefully, but it's just hard to imagine anything can work forever when I feel like I have already changed so much since meeting Chan. Maybe the key is to simply give up on thinking altogether. Mother did just say I was as pretty as a doll the other day.”

Seungmin just chuckled at his dramatics, and gave a teasing “maybe~”, his smile a little devilish where he sat squished into the corner of his own chair.

As the next month passed Minho grew into his new skin, allowing the scents to filter out as much as he could, and preparing himself for the new look people gave him. Now it wasn’t uncommon to see just a twinge of lust in another’s eyes when they saw him, and while he was still very uncomfortable with the implication, he grew used to the sensation, and knew that this was simply part of growing up into a person who will give and take desire.

It comforted him immensely these days to know the whole kingdom acknowledged that he was off limits, what used to bother him by making him feel “marked”, now made him feel like he had a layer of protection from those who would wish to take what had not been given. It is one thing to assault an omega, still not as uncommon as one would hope, but it is another to attempt to thwart the Kingdom’s long held broker for peace with the other powerful nation and ally.

Yet his parents were still reluctant to take any chance, both warning Minho that although that meant he was less likely to be taken advantage of by just anyone, it also gave their political enemies even more reason to try and ruin their end of the deal by getting to him. The idea of himself and his body being nothing more than a chess piece to some disgusted him, a pit in his stomach growing at the knowledge that the person who could do that probably sat across from him at some banquet or two.

So his freedom was restricted, the long walks to the cat rescue center now always accompanied, and his dancing in the square closely watched. Even in the castle gardens he noticed a guard or two lingering around, not obvious but not subtle enough to pass off as a coincidence every time. He wished he didn’t have to live leashed, but after noticing the change in other’s scents sometimes as he passed by he wondered if his mother wasn’t right that he was too beautiful for his own good. He could ask the world to change its ways, barge in defiance against his bars, but as he matured he began to realize that some cages weren’t meant to keep him in as much as others out. 

So he continued on as he always did but with a bit more caution, writing letters and learning more about Chan while practicing dance with his beloved teacher and cousin, and learning to make more elaborate meals on his own. He studied and played and laughed and longed, and before he knew it another year was gone. As he boarded the ship once again, he watched the sea in silence this time, wondering what could go wrong. 

Trying to shake himself out of the negative thoughts he walked along the boat's edge until he found Hyunjin, seemingly contemplating something of his own. Hyunjin had also grown so much this year, his raven hair gleaming in the sun where he stood a little taller than his cousin despite being so young. 

“What’s on your mind JiJi? I haven’t seen you this quiet in a while.”

Hyunjin looked over and gave Minho a faint smile, his eyes creasing in the right places but the dullness remained, a gloss over his usually cheery face.

“I’m not sure anything is wrong, I’m just feeling out of place all of the sudden. I know that uncle and everyone wants me to join, but it feels weird now that you and Chan are such a unit for me to come along.”

Minho hadn’t realized that Hyunjin had been feeling a little lost on these trips, indeed a little caught up with his and Chan’s relationship lately. Slinging his arm around Hyunjin he gave his little cousin a boxy grin.

“Hey I’ll try to keep the PDA to a minimum if you're willing to stick around two sappy old men like me and Chan and hang out. But if you need some ‘only cousin time’ just let me know and we can arrange that too. I don’t want you to feel like I’m not here for you during this rocky time of growing up.”

Hyunjin’s smile was more genuine this time, and they spent the next hour just chatting, remarking about everything from tough times to what shapes the clouds reminded them of. When they reached the beach and climbed up to the house their conversation died down slowly, and a tiny bit of nerves filled Minho’s stomach once again. As they reached the house Chan and his family had just arrived as well, emerging from the tree line right in time to meet them.

Minho felt like a fool when he saw Chan’s smile and all his doubts turned to liquid. The spinning thoughts and pounding ache seemed so far away in a second, his worries still there but they just felt less important than enjoying this moment. When they finally met in the middle Minho reached out hand and Chan silently took it, and for all the build up it felt like just enough. Carried on the wind was the rich scent of ocean breeze, and now it was obvious to Minho that it didn’t come from the coast around them. 

It made sense that it was Chan’s scent, the light salt that stung Minho’s tongue and the fresh crisp air that reminded him of a long summer day was so Chan. It was more subtle than many of the other Alpha scents he had experienced, but he knew that in times of trouble it could come in like a storm, overwhelming and whipping at his skin. His own citrus was a nice compliment in a way, together they were like a sweet late spring day. 

When he looked over Hyunjin had embraced Jisung in what seemed like genuine excitement to see him, and the bright smile that wasn’t as common these days was on his face. Minho noted this, wondering when their bickering little brats seemed to grow so close. Minho gave Jisung a hug after that, glad to see the boy who he missed as well. Jisung had grown a lot in his own way, his hair now a fried blue that Chan had let Minho know had been a adventurous decision based purely on Jisung’s favorite anime character.

While all of their smiles seemed bright he noticed that his and Chan’s still held a little extra weight, perhaps the longer years often dulled what used to shine so bright. Or maybe he just didn’t feel the need to express his happiness so boldly, knowing those around him would love him weather his smile was large or small. He hoped Jisung knew he didn’t need to be their peppy boy all the time, at least if he didn’t feel like it. 

As they walked hand and hand into the house the sunlight streamed out behind them, lighting up their flying hair like crowns of gold and glittering obsedian.

…

Later in the week they were sketching by the river, each boy deciding to try and depict the other with only charcoal on a paper. One still image is hardly enough to encompass a person, one’s motion bringing oneself to life, but in a place in time so tender it felt important to capture what they could. And sketching gave them a chance to really look at one another, to inspect the changes that have really occurred.

Chan moved his hand across the stark white page in hopes to shade in Minho’s hair, filling the space where it cascaded down to the tops of his cheeks. He was glad for this time to stare, especially when he felt like he could hardly take his eyes off Minho all week. Before he had thought Minho was pretty, his skin like smooth silk and eyes that captured the whole sky, but now he was downright captivating, with moves that glide and a shine that made it as hard to look as it was to glance away.

He knew it was Minho’s dance background that gave him the rhythm to his steps and gentleness to his hold, but he couldn’t help but feel like Minho must have descended from somewhere special to be as ethereal as he was right now. Trying to paint that with black dust on ground up trees just felt so pathetically earthly, but Chan was ready to try. So he made his first real attempt at drawing, something powerful inside him growing every time Minho met his eyes with a smile of his own. Maybe it wasn’t so foolish after all, to hope to be able to hold tight to the creature before him.

Well Minho wouldn’t let him get too romantic on his watch after all, because half way through the session he let out the loudest burp Chan had heard since Felix swore to Jisung that he could down a whole bottle of coke ‘no problem’. For a second Chan froze, before laughing so hard his voice rang out silently, and only the convulsing of his body indicated his humorous state. Minho’s loud giggles sounded out beside him, and he knew he must be really skrewed up to think they still sounded like a fairy’s chime. 

When they finally revealed their pictures they gave each other their usual teases about Chan’s heavy hand and Minho’s drawing having a crooked nose that was lumpy in all the wrong places, but Chan made sure to give just as many real compliments and Minho indirectly did the same. Not the type to be overt with his affections or true intentions, Minho skipped around plain faced kindness like a tricky fox who only ever wanted to play, but he always let his eyes and hands give it all away when they lingered on the colored page. 

When they made it back to dinner Hyunjin asked to spend the rest of the evening with Chan to his surprise, and after a quick look at Minho he confirmed that that would be perfectly fine. When they walked by the sea that night he questioned why Hyunjin was in a hurry to spend time with only him. Hyunjin just answered with a small pout and a “don’t you miss me hyung?”. Since then Chan let it go, and listened to Hyunjin’s problems and stories with an attentive ear and some remarks of his own. 

The next week flew by, Chan and Minho finding time to spend in quiet moments and loud banter, learning new games that Jisung picked up from other bored students in his script class and letting touches linger on the tops of their head and the expanses of their shoulders. Both boys knew there was a line they weren’t crossing, and it wasn’t until time was almost gone that Chan decided he couldn’t wait another year to try.

So their last morning he lead Minho down to the groove, their favorite place for mishcive as it hides any who isn’t right within its grasp. They tangled in the leaves and brush until even the low hanging sun cannot find them, its tendrials of light almost totally blocked as they nestle between two trees. Breath coming out a bit fast and eyes locked onto Minho’s own, Chan opened up about his intentions.

“Could I kiss you here?”

Minho seemed almost confused at first, and then a light flush swept across his cheeks which had slowly lost their childhood fluff. Minho takes just one more blink before he nods, and Chan let out his unconsciously held breath in a slight gust. Leaning in slowly, Chan narrowed his eyes until all he can see was Minho’s full lips, and closed his eyes entirely when those lips meet his own. It wasn’t revolutionary but it was a sweetness Chan had never known, and the gentle push against one another felt as tender as a newborn lamb.

When they parted Chan was panting again, now realizing that he had been holding his breath an awful lot. The air around them was skin temperature and Chan felt weightless as Minho stared at him with the buddings of love. It must be it- that starlight that lingered in his eyes even when the sun had fully risen. They sat there with each other, bodies wrapped around one another until the light finally filtered fully in, and both boys knew it was time to go. 

They walked back to the beach, and Chan felt a sharp stab as the dirt turned to sand. He knew this next year would feel especially long, the more he seemed to learn of Minho the more he had to miss when he was gone. If the hard grip on his hand was any indication, Minho felt much the same. When they reached the docks Chan pulled Minho in for a tight hug, and breathed in citrus one more time.

As they let go Minho just smiled at him, pushing a loose strand of hair away from his eyes with a gentle hand. When Minho heard a shout, that sounded like Hyunjin, about “his promise of limited PDA” he tilted his head and stuck out his tongue. In a fit of deviance and bravery Minho gave Chan a resounding kiss on the cheek and turned, leaving his to-be with a rosy face and a longing heart, both unsure of what this next year would bring. 

Truthfully, no one knew what was coming. 

  
  



	10. The Hot Summer Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He so sorry I've been a bit uninspired lately, but here's another chapter for y'all. This one is a little different then the rest and a bit more narrative focused, but I hope you like it. Anyway stream God's Menu since the boys worked so hard please!

Every day since he was 5 Bang Chan had been told that this day might come.

It was why he had swung his blade against the training blocks again and again, the hot sun beating down as sweat flew off his reddened skin. It was why he learned the strategy of battle, late nights where plans and formations stuck to the inside of his dry eyes. It was what he had been preparing for his whole life. But when news came that Thastov had sent soldiers to attack Duralin’s northern fort, his stomach still sunk below the floorboards, the tremor of his hands hidden beneath his winter cloak his forbidden fear. 

When his father turned from the messenger still panting at their door and met his eyes, Bang Chan could feel his foreboding fate stretch before him. There he walked, preparing his armor and packing his leather bag with thick gray clothes and his grandfather’s silver knife, said to be carved by a witch who had watched over their family for centuries. There he stood, back against all the men whom he would follow into the parted forest beyond all he knew, his mother’s silent tears drying as the wind blew them back into the dark earth. There he rode, carried on fate’s brow, swept away as her all seeing eyes, for one moment, blinked. 

When they arrived it was dawn, and the light of the morning was harsher than the night. The glimmer of the sun’s rays cast a sparkle in each pool of red around them, its orange light illuminating every body shrouded in white. The world looked like it was on fire, homes and men laying in soot and dust. Chan followed their General two horses behind, as he was already appointed an officer although only for show. Chan wore no medals as he had earned none, but the light still bent around his proud head like a flickering crown. If all he could give these men was grace, then he would hold himself steady with whatever strength he could find. 

His horse's black hair was silky underneath his palms, and he took comfort in its gentle texture as the rest of his body ached. Four days of riding, and then camping, only to rise and ride once more, was far more strenuous than he anticipated, but then again he had never felt the urgency that spurred them on now. The soldiers rode in an alignment like the point of a spear, thirteen men staggered at the front charging ahead each slightly behind the last, and those men led a column of riders behind them. He headed the third row and thus could not relax, knowing that any slump in his back would be witnessed by the dozens of men behind him. 

As they dismounted the soldiers from the north fort surrounded the General, swarming him with reports and details of men who were only numbers now. Chan held his tongue and observed, determined to learn what he could firsthand. Eventually however the groans of those lying not far from them pulled at his attention, and he stole a glance in that direction. He had never seen a man whose body wasn’t complete, and the sheer truth of it was too much for his already shaking reality. He only prayed no one could recognize the green tint on his face, and then tuned back to the report being made by a pudgy older man who seemed to be the most knowledgeable about the logistics of the fort. Plans- he knew plans. For now that was all he could cling to. 

The conversation stretched over many minutes, bits of information tossed around while Chan attempted to keep up with the connections of all the data. It seemed as though Thastov wasn’t sending their full force, and this could be more a skirmish than a full blown war. Since the nations were always somewhat hostile to one another this wasn’t as uncommon as the King had hoped, but it was not the devastation of a years long war. A sharp wind blew through the grassy valley, the air already warming in the new sun. Chan inspected the men around him again, trying to take in who was speaking and what that might mean about the information they were sharing. His eyes eventually landed on the man to his right. 

The General was a formidable man in his fifties, just old enough to have been an officer in the old war. His grim set lips and thinning fair hair had always seemed depressing to Chan as a child, but now he saw the years on his face and felt comfort in his wisdom. As calculations ran across the man's dark eyes Chan tried to interpret their glint- did the 80 dead on the northwest point mean Thastov were trying to pin them to the mountains? Or was the large army witnessed marching East the bigger threat to be challenged first?

The general looked up suddenly, his squinted look piercing even when shrouded by his lashes. Chan could feel those calculations turn on him, his stance a plus and his shaky eyes a minus, all tallied by a man who would have to deal with the consequences of his error with blood. 

“Prince Chan, why don’t you help in the medical tent now and I can relay a summarized log to you later, and explain my interpretations alongside the numbers.”

His tone was curt but not unkind, and Chan had little problem giving a short bow and heading to where he was sent. He had to weave through several clusters of men to reach the dull green ten with a red cross on it, but he tried to move swiftly through the stares that lingered on his skin. A mix of pride and resentment pulsed through most men he passed, some simply looking in surprise and some not caring beyond a quick glance. Chan had never wanted to blend in more, even when he had played with the kids in the village and they refused to stop calling him “sir”. 

When he finally opened the tent flap he was received with a reaction much the same, and when he bowed in greeting to the first person he found, he made sure to make it a full 45 degrees. 

“I am Officer Chan and I was sent by the General to do what I can to help here. Please do not hesitate to assign me tasks.”

His statement was met with a snort to his right, and a muscular woman with salt and pepper hair pushed away the nurse whom he first saw and raised her sharp eyebrow.

“Well I for one don’t give a shit if you really are the prince, with as short staffed as we are today you better bet we’ll put you to work.”

Ignoring the wide eyes of the short nurse to his left Chan nodded, and allowed himself to be guided to the nearest bed. The older woman pulled the curtain to reveal a man whose eyes looked like they would never open, the amount of blood still pouring out of his sliced thigh alarming. His dark hair was splayed across the white pillow resembled a man who was already laid for his final rest, and Chan couldn’t imagine he would really make it through night. 

The woman gave a sharp laugh that was no doubt at Chan’s expense, and a jolting pat to his back, and simply handed him a stained white cloth and a bucket with water that frothed with suds. 

“This wound needs to be thoroughly cleaned to prevent infection, or else this boy might lose his leg altogether. Wash it well and then report back to me, there’s plenty more where this came from kid.”

With that she was gone, clearly having better things to do than babysit Chan while he faced a horror he had never experienced before. Taking in a steading breath Chan prepared himself, and dipped the cloth into the lukewarm water. As gentle as he could he ran the damp rag across the stitched skin, careful not to tear what had already been mended. After his second swipe the man bolted awake, a guttural cry already on his lips. Wide eyed but trying to soothe the man, Chan held his arms up, attempting to seem harmless. 

It was to no real avail, the man’s empty eyes seeing something beyond the boy with a bloody rag before him. Eventually Chan just held his leg as tightly as he could with the man twisting around him, and patted the raw area as fast as possible. Ducking a flailing arm and trying to focus on being delicate, Chan felt overwhelmed and  _ way _ over his head. So just as he always did when he hit a wall that he had to climb, Chan got a grip and held on. Finally patting the leg dry with a green cloth on the bedside, Chan finished his task as best he felt he could and took one big step back from the now still body. For one moment the man’s eyes and his own met, and in his haunted stare lingered the death of the past and the skeletons of the future. 

Looking away as fast as he could, Chan stumbled to the nearest stool and slumped into its merciful grasp. His hands came up to rub at his quivering eyes, trying to shake the fear that had struck him like lightning. A firm hand landed on his neck, and when he looked up the older woman’s eyes were just as hard but her lips had formed a more kind smile.

“Welcome to the front dear prince. We all shake our first time, death is nothing to pretend you don’t fear. Now stand up again, there is more to be done.”

Chan felt his feet groan in protest, his knees threatening to buckle, but eventually he stood, and he moved forward to wherever fate would lead him. 

…

When Minho learned that he wouldn’t see Chan this summer , he knew that just months ago he would have sulked, even spoken back to his parents about how it was _so_ unfair. Now he held his longing deep in his heart, fairness the last thought on his mind. With potential war creeping up on them and fear spreading far into their nation, he knew he could not break down like a child. How can he cry about the injustice of his sorrow when it is not even his official bonded out there; when it is not his life that will stand on the thin thread between safety and death? 

Yet that never seems to stop the ache does it. Oh how lovely the world would be if remembering that another has suffered worse could soothe your own wound, rather than simply making you weep in the dark of the night. The reality of the situation rippled through his thoughts, some days like a dark cloud on the distant horizon, other days like a cramp in his side that seized his body every time he took a step. He tried to keep Chan out of his thoughts altogether, even the happy memories tinted with fear and a punch of loneliness. 

In the depths of his gut he was sure he would feel it if Chan died, their connection already there even if it wasn’t the high stakes of a full bond. But that was hardly any comfort, simply knowing that it hadn’t happened yet was not the assurance that it couldn’t happen tomorrow. His father had sworn that this was just another skirmish on the border, Thatsov just testing their luck at another possible invasion and then being dissuaded. Minho had taken some comfort in the idea that this might be over in a half a year or so, but the hope of a few months from now could not end the worries of today.

In the end he mostly saved his worry for when he wandered the castle halls at dawn like a ghost. Seungmin and Hyunjin looked for him often, their small conversations distractions from his new sense of mortal peril. He appreciated that they tried, even if they sometimes treated him like a delicate mad man one push from the edge, and some days he had as much fun with them as ever. His main joy came from when he and Hyunjin danced, his emotions turning into movement and dispersed in the flick of a hand. 

On one particular day, when it was almost summer, he walked out of the castle and into the open morning light. The smell of freshly bloomed roses wafted by him when he opened the side gate to the garden, and his long night gown swirled behind him in the warm breeze. The day felt so peaceful it disturbed him, the frantic beating of his heart a stark contrast to the silent beauty around him. The light was weak in the young hour, and he quietly pulled his dark hair away from his face so he wouldn’t get hot as the day moved onward. 

He pushed through the colorful rose bushes, uncaring if not even unfeeling to the thorns that dug into his thighs. He finally made it to a small empty circle where one bush failed to sprout, tucked away in the field of carefully manicured rows. In the blemish of rich smooth dirt he sat down, folding his legs in and slowly pulling a tawny colored letter from his pocket. He unfolded it and took a breath of fresh air before letting his eyes focus on the page. 

“Dear Minho,

I won’t lie, it isn’t quite as nice as the summer mansion out here. 

But we do have enough tents for each man and quite a few wells around with fresh water in them, and some of the older men around have taken it upon themselves to inform me that that is, in fact, a luxury. It’s weird to feel the full summer heat where it's so dry, and my fair skinned body is currently cowering under a shady tree from the ever present sun. I am so used to the coastal fog in the morning that the valley’s hot nights haunt me, never have I felt so foreign in my own land. 

I have never hid the truth from you, but I honestly cannot write on a page what war is like. It is the crashing noises of blades and metal slamming into each other, and it is the sound of birds softly chirping as I eat stew in the morning. It is the feeling of slick auburn mud beneath my boot as I push forward the front line, and it is the sensation of my horses' soft mane beneath my fingertip’s as I brush her long hair. It is the sight of a man gasping out in vain, one last name on his lips before it's over, and it's the scene of men singing together by a midnight campfire, cheeks red with drink and laughter. 

I have never felt so close to death, and I have never felt so alive. I’m not sure what scares me more. I miss you in the moments of peace, my body at rest but my mind a mixed up mess. The boy I was when I saw you last feels like a million miles away, yet he lingers in my thoughts. Is it strange to say I am scared to see you- to meet you as the person I have become? I think I am becoming dramatic here as I write, because I’m sure I’m not nearly as different as I think, maybe I am just trying too hard to make myself into someone else. Because I do feel things just as strongly as I did then, it is only now that I have grown numb to those emotions that I feel I cannot carry along. 

I have learned that I will have to accept the world’s uncertainty as it comes, truly our fate has always been out of our control I suppose. I hope you too have gained an appreciation for where we will be taken, and how we can still try our best to get there together.

Till I see you again My Fated,

Bang Chan.”

Minho knew he had changed as well in these months from the way his eyes remained dry as he read along, his emotions crawling up his throat but never coming out on full display. Hope felt too hollow, but acceptance was an empty promise, one he knew he simply couldn’t keep. In the end he simply pressed his cheek down to the earth and squeezed his eyes shut until spots danced along his eyelid. When he opened them again he watched the dirt in front of him as it buzzed with life, ants building towers and caterpillars spinning their cocoons around him, all moving along with great speed. 

It made him feel so small to remember the whole world was still moving without him, that even if something were to happen the sun would still break the day and the moon would hang at night. He was but one human wandering this dirt, far from the last and far from the first, and in the end even his death was not a big deal to this earth.  So he would take in a calming breath, and let it out as hard as he could, and then move onward to wherever life would take him. 

One dawn, and one dusk, at a time. 


	11. Not a given, but a gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. So it has been a while, but what can I say- everything a bit of a mess huh. I am still determined to finish this fic, although I promise no schedule. But I do love these characters and want to see their end just as much as y'all lol! Anyway please leave a comment and lets chat about Minchan, especially with everything that went down around Stray Kids I've been really appreciating these two Hyungs and their strengths and bond, so please chat so I can talk about it cause I have a lot to say and ask LMAO. Hope you all enjoy!

Life had a funny way of never doing what you expected. 

It wasn’t just random, it almost felt deliberate. When you’ve prepared yourself for rain it gives you sun, and when you turn to the left it will force your body right. And sometimes the most unexpected thing it can do, is to give you exactly what you want. Nine months in and the war was over, the battles dwindling to nothing as the Thastov forces were met with a vigorous response, the blood drying up from the field by a new dawn’s sun.

When the announcement sounded out in the throne room, Minho felt his stomach reel, something choking up his throat. The knees he always held so tightly during these updates shook, his whole body at once weightless and so, so heavy. His head felt like it was up in the fog but his torso felt a million pounds, and all that he had been carrying for so long slowly crashed into him in a way that he couldn’t ignore. As his eyes burned he quickly covered them with his hands, pressing fingers down hard to try and hold in the shaking. The cold rings on his fingers felt like ice on the tops of his cheeks. 

While his family was breathing a collective sigh of relief he finally wept, tears falling silently past his trembling smile. It felt like walls crumbling down around him, ones which had both held him up and kept his emotions from leaking out. While he had needed their stability before, he was glad now to finally let them open up, tired beyond words from trying to appear as calm as he could. Seungmin was the first to wrap his thin arms around Minho’s body, his grip a reminder that Minho had more support than just himself. Immediately Hyunjin joined in on the pile while letting out a few tears of his own, always the first to be willing to share in a good breakdown, and even Seungmin let out a hearty sniffle. His parents put two hands upon Minho’s back, their palms hot on his silk shirt. 

This sense of tangible loss, the confrontation with the idea that something precious could be simply taken without a word, it was a rapid catalyst. Minho felt he must have aged three years every month, each day learning how to deal with a new wave of pain. It is not as if he would have ever wished for this, but he did feel stronger coming out from the other side. He was sure though that if he  _ had _ lost Chan permanently, that wouldn’t be the case, but as things stand this served as more a reminder of how much he had to lose than a devastating casualty. Still it was enough to shake him of the lasts of childhood’s blissful ignorances. 

At the news Minho felt sharp relief, they had been hearing reports of less and less clashes happening over in Duralin, but a declaration of ceasefire was the final confirmation that it was truly over. And yet even as the worst of his fear evaporated, most of his uncertainty did not. In Chan’s letters the boy had mentioned several times about feeling changed, transformed in a fundamental sense from the man Minho knew. And the truth was, he felt the same.

Sadness changed him in a different form than hope, the pit he had been carrying around leaving a dent in his world view. Hope made him stretch into new horizons, grasping for the edge of his comfort zone. Worry had him cowering back, coveting all he had anew. After they all got up from the huddle, Minho made sure and gave each person an individual hug, taking in the gentle scents of the people he loved. He felt gratitude to have them to hold, realizing how blessed he was to have so many people who wanted to carry him when he didn’t feel strong. 

Even if it hurt like hell, loss gave you a new appreciation for what you have, and Minho knew he would never take for granted a person’s presence in his life like he once had. Perhaps that is why adults seemed to be so weighed down, they carried the burden of knowing what life had to give and what it could take away. Puberty may be the physical transformation, but one’s first important loss marks the real passage into maturity. Unfortunately for some children that comes much too early. 

It was this new knowledge that spurred Minho to take up a position as a dance instructor and caretaker at the closest orphanage, Zuosiph’s Home for Children. He had gone there as a child but thought of it like play, cheering up kids and then taking his leave, absentminded about their existence once he left the doors. Now he went there 4 days a week, learning each child's name and their story, and trying to help them cope with loss and also spark joy through movement in their body.

There was something he could see reflected in their eyes now, the pain of a burden he hadn't noticed before. So he taught them rhythm, energy through the body, and a new pattern for their steps. Something to count on, a stability in oneself. He didn’t mention death, nor hold pity in his eyes when he looked at them, instead he only gave them an understanding look and a pat on the back- and urged them to move again. There was plenty to remind them of what they lost, he wanted to give them something to gain.

His own body grew stronger with the increased practice, and he felt proud of his durable muscles that filled out his newly stretched limbs. He was still small, enough to be acceptable without his parents giving him a certain look, but he felt better in his skin now that he knew it held more strength. There is always a reassurance in knowing you can hold your own in any type of situation. 

He continued this ritual all the way until the day to leave had finally come, the shore of the island soon approaching his position at the front of the boat. He was dressed in darker colors of deep purple and gray, perhaps his mother wanting to set a somber tone. As for his expression, well one really couldn’t say. It didn’t hold nerves or excitement, his mouth flat and the sea in his eyes like calm waters. As the group stepped off the boat and moved together through the tree line closer to the house, his face stayed much the same. 

The pathway was windy but Minho didn’t even have to look at his feet, his body carrying him through the ingrained steps even as his mind failed to process it. And when the last tree cleared his vision, he saw him standing there. Minho was sure there were others around him but he didn’t notice them, not with two green eyes piercing his. Hadn’t it been not so long ago that he thought he would live life indifferent towards this boy? It must have been a different lifetime. 

Bang Chan was studier in build, clearly more developed in muscle tone than before just like Minho. He also had a new scar just through his brow, almost aesthetically pleasing if it didn’t represent an achingly close call. His posture was still military straight and his hands chapped and a little raw, his face now a lean V with a sharp jaw. But it wasn’t the physical differences that alarmed Minho, but the fact that Chan was wearing the fakest smile. 

It was waxy in nature, polite in meaning, and Minho hated every slightly curled inch of it. Those emerald eyes held something much more interesting swirling in those depths as Chan inspected him in turn, something Minho couldn’t yet describe. As they bowed and then turned towards the entrance, Minho decided right then and there that he would visit Chan in private soon, and try to dig past the placid image Chan was trying to front.

…

When Chan laid down in his bed that night, he had prepared himself for another long bout of tossing and turning. He wasn’t sure what it meant that he had slept worse since returning home than he ever had on a firm mat in the middle of war, but maybe that was the nature of anxiety. When you are out fighting against something it is actually helpful, but when you are meant to be resting it makes you chase your own tail. He rubbed his dry eyes with both hands, fingers coming to press against the strain there.

He hadn’t cried in months. At first he had no time and now he had no desire to, all his emotions feeling carefully planned these days. On the outside he had gone through the “right” steps- taking time to recover, then slowly seeing more people, then returning to his full blown life. He could see the relief in his mother’s face that he hadn’t changed too much, the gratitude in his father's tone when he said he was glad Chan was “adapting well”, and yet he just felt like a fake. 

Once again his own real thoughts were sinking, deep in the ocean where he could pretend he didn’t see them, before he heard a knock at the door. Torso sitting up slowly, he felt the soft blanket slip off as his curious eyes wandered the room only illuminated by dull moonlight. He figured it probably wasn’t the most polite murder of all time, so it was better to just get up and check the door. Feet moving on the cold stone he shivered, and opened up the carved wooden door.. 

And there was Minho. His pajamas were a matching silk and his eyes narrowed in a determined squint, his hair still damp and curling at the edges. Chan just stepped aside, allowing Minho to move into the room and sit cross legged on the bed. Chan felt different emotions swallow him as he made his way back to the queen sized mattress, joyful at being sought out and dreadful at the possible reason for it. For a moment they just sat, side by side and arms lightly pressed together as time crawled by. Finally Minho spoke, voice low as if sharing something which should not be said.

“I want to know what you’re really feeling now Chan. I don’t know what happened this past year and I don’t have to know, just tell me about right now.”

There was something special about Minho that Chan now realized, and it was that he was completely unpredictable. Normal people who tried to follow the wishes of society had a pattern, a familiar way of moving through life. But Minho was as honest as a child, sad when he felt it and happy when he wanted it. And it was this that prevented Chan from trying to temper his words to make Minho feel better, because Chan could never know if that would occur at all. Letting go of the need to put up images for another's sake was a scary release of control, and a cool rush of freedom.

“I am moving, but I’m not sure if I’m going forward. It seems foolish now, but I was hoping that I could only change for the better, that I could leave the anger and blood behind and just take the growth. But of course both are still with me, carried back all the way back from the front.”

Minho let out a long breath and squeezed Chan’s thigh in a comforting hold, then gently placed his head on Chan’s shoulder. He closed his eyes, then quietly responded.

“Is that so?”

Chan hummed and rested his own head on top of Minho’s, his cheek pressed against the thick strands of hair that smelled of a sweet orange. 

“Yes, it is. Of course the death and battle haunts me, I knew the first moment I sliced into flesh would never leave me, but I didn’t know about the…frustration, the protective guard I now keep up, the slight distrust in the safety of every room I step in. I can see why my father used to say that going to battle makes you harder to kill. I had learned the movements of fighting long ago, but not the paranoid instincts of one who has faced real danger.”

Minho nodded, body almost entirely still as he spoke.

“I have heard of that as well. It’s easy to spot a former soldier when they enter a room and scan every corner.”

Chan snorted, amused at the idea that he was now marked by his eyes wandering each wall. He slid down a little, and Minho’s body followed.

“Tell me then about your journey Minho then, how did the last year pass along for you?”

Minho hummed and paused for a long while.

“It was full of worry. I never thought I could pace that much, or feel that anxious constantly, but I did. The sense of possibly losing you and then realizing I am really always at risk for losing someone I love, was a new and hard sensation. But I’ve grown as well, seeing the world for as precious as it is.”

Chan reached up a hand and stroked through the other side of Minho’s hair, a smile on his lips at the thought of being missed and a sigh out of his nose at the pain he had caused. 

“Well I’m honored to matter so much but also very sorry I caused you such distress, seeing your face break into genuine relief when you saw me was hard. I knew it was only that way because of the painful state I’ve put you in.”

Minho’s hand quickly reached up, and shoved Chan's face away in a grumpy bat of the hand.

“Stop that you dork, all you did was exist! Don’t be stupid and give some grand apology like you owe me control over the world.”

Chan faked a look of deep surprise and hurt, his voice in a petulant whine even as his grin grew.   
“Minho how could you! I was trying to be all gentlemanly and then you hiss at me like a sulky cat?”

Minho just giggled, and kept his body tilted towards Chan’s side. Eventually Chan wrapped an arm back around his middle, and in the playful silence, closed his eyes. The night was peaceful, warmer than normal but not enough to sweat, and Chan felt genuinely alright as he faded into sleep just fine.

…

As the weeks went by Minho and Chan took the time to gently relearn each other. Minho told tales about the children he taught much to Chan’s delight, and Chan shared stories from his past year, some funny, some most definitely not. Often in the daylight he would crack Minho, Jisung, and Hyunjin up with tales of men bickering over the last piece of toast to the point of wrestling on the ground, and stories of nights trying to battle ants when they accidentally set up a tent right on their hill. In the moonlight he’d share the more sorrowful songs of men he had gotten to know that were now long gone, whispered into Minho’s ear. 

But more than just new stories, they also explored each other further as a whole. Chan learned to read Minho’s face when he was doing something, now realizing that Minho didn’t like his mother’s cooking as much as he pretended, and he began to understand the telling jiggle of Minho’s hand when he would get bored of a story half way through. Minho in turn began to simply poke Chan’s hand to check in, getting a genuine reassuring nod or a “help me” scrunch on the nose depending on the situation, and learned how to subtly rest his hand in Chan’s. 

As they met again now, it felt like the coming together of two different types of men. Bang Chan with his gentle smiles and silken words and a core of molten steel, and Minho with his razor tongue and stony expressions and a heart that bleed twice as fast. Minho never let his emotions escape in big sobs or loud laughter, yet he was one of the most expressive people Chan had ever met. His face was always honest, brows coming together enough to display his displeasure, or his eyes narrowing in good humor. It was all written in lines on his face, rather than the sounds from his mouth.

Chan on the other had made a grand sight of his joy, falling on the floor with booming peals of laughter at some of Jisung’s best jokes, and his tired eyes looked hauntingly vacant when his mind was somewhere dark. And yet for all that was obvious, his innermost heart was his most closely guarded secret. What he showed was only what he was willing for others to see, and sometimes it wasn’t even close to the true depth that lay below. His smile was stunning, pretty teeth all in a row, but Minho couldn’t stand that it wasn’t to be trusted. 

By the time their weeks came to an end, they were sure of each other once more. That night before it was done, Minho leaned over and gave Chan a gentle kiss, a reassurance perhaps that they would be alright. Chan cupped Minho’s cheek in turn, and pressed his lips against his forehead, a send off away from anyone else’s eyes. Both boys wrapped strong arms around each other, and held just that much tighter than the other nights.

When morning had long come and they had hugged goodbye, Minho tried to capture the calming scent of the ocean at night that surrounded him. He was sure that if life really pressured him, he might just be crazy enough to get a jar of sea salt and huff. Watching Chan’s back now he sighed, uncaring of the ears around him. A year felt like much too long, especially with his new worry gnawing at him that they could truly never meet again if that’s what the God’s decided. But in the end most of him was just grateful, knowing now that every moment was not a given, but a gift. 


	12. Summer Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLLOOO. So, here we are~! Third to last chapter. I love this fic, but I won't lie I'm excited to finally finish and have this be a completed work that I can be proud of but also not have to edit anymore LMAO. We are very close to the wedding and they are 19 here btw. I think I might have skipped a year at this point but I don't care its too late! Anyway I just wanted to say a couple of things: First of all sorry to Y'all that came here for Hyunsung I really didn't put in as much of their relationship as I wanted :/. Still I offer you these crumbs! Second of all: I already have two other minchan things in the work (When I can't even finish one... yikes) one of which is on twitter here: https://twitter.com/Lou28078123/status/1281956845800706050 The whole thing is pretty different then this one but ya know... its Minchan and I'm writing it so if you are interested check it out! Third if any of you ever would be so amazing as to write a fic inspired by this one or *gasp* draw something,,, I WILL LOVE IT I PROMISE! Just please leave a comment here or dm on that minchan twitter account. Okay see ya soon!

Life passes quickly when you grow older. 

The more you experience the more each day blurs together, the hot summer melting into red autumn leaves with ease. One crisp blue skyed morning found Chan wandering into the outdoor garden, the crunch of icy grass under his feet a comforting sound. The air was saturated with a chill and his forest green coat was fully buttoned to his neck against the cold.

Still he needed to get out and find some peace before the day really started, even if he could have used the extra sleep that morning. He had memorized his loved one’s steps long ago, so he didn’t even have to turn around when another crunch joined his own. He smiled a little, glad to have company if it was a friend and not an official. 

“What brings you out this early Jisung? I haven’t seen you up at sunrise since you were shorter than my shoulder.”

Jisung had grown into such a strong boy. Chan hadn’t even noticed his eyes grow harder and his words wiser until it was almost too late. When Chan needed to talk about some of the harsher aspects of life recently, he was pleased to realize that Jisung could be there for him, ears open and face sympathetic but not burdened. Everything felt a little easier after they found a way to turn it into a joke, grimaces expanding into grins. But now it seemed like his little cousin needed to confide in him about something, cheeks puffed out in an anxious pout and his big eyes shifting about. Thank god Jisung never lost the fluff on his face, Chan thinks he would have actually cried.

“Hyung, how did you, ya know- know?”

Chan blinked, unsure what this could mean, but suspecting where this was heading. Before he could speak though Jisung was back to babbling- his hands tucking underneath his sleek fur coat that was hastily pulled over his pink pajamas. 

“About- I mean love. That you’re in love with Minho I mean. How did you figure that shit out? Because I know about the whole ‘heating cheeks and erratic heartbeat’ but that's just physical stuff and can be caused by other things right? So how do you know it's like, for sure love?”

Well if Chan’s being honest he hadn’t even thought much about if he was in love, but after hearing Jisung say it so plainly he guessed it was a fool's act to deny the obvious. Minho gave him a reason to be excited for each day, and thoughts of him helped Chan go to bed each night. It was like finding a comfortable spot in the sun, a place that shines bright no matter the state of the sky.

Love was Minho first thing in the morning with his eyes half open, sleepy enough to be openly clingy. Love was Minho’s giggle, smile wide and shining with mischievous fun. Love was warm hands on the back of his neck and damp lips that glistened in the blazing sun. But he wasn’t naive enough to think that that’s what love meant to everyone. He sighed and ran his hand through his fluffy hair, curls trying to catch his fingers as they swept by. 

“You even asking this question is a good indication that you might already know Sungie. I can’t tell you how it feels for you, but I guess I knew when Minho shifted into my center. Even though I have plenty of hopes, dreams, and fears apart from him, he’s ultimately who I come back to everyday. He’s my island in the storm and a home away from these glistening white cliffs, one I turn to when I’ve lost my path. But you’ll know in your gut Jisung, when it pulls you right towards them.” 

Jisung’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, huddling further into himself in compilation. Chan knew this was serious but he couldn’t help the fond look in his eyes as he watched on, his gangly little Jisung all grown and leaping into love. If this would lead to his happiness then Chan could ask for nothing else. He moved forward and patted Jisung’s shoulder, grin so big his eyes wrinkled into nothing.

“Don’t blow your head up over it Jisung, just trust yourself as it comes. Now let's go in, I think Ms.Mingji would be willing to cook us up some breakfast early.”

Jisung nodded, eyes still zoned out in thought. Probably overthinking the last 6 years poor boy, Chan couldn’t say he’s jealous. Minho and him had their share of angst, but their anger had turned to passion and now simmers rather than burns. It was a warmth that glowed in Chan’s mind like the north star in the night sky. Jisung spoke up in a mumble, and Chan’s not even sure he was supposed to hear it.

“Would be easier if the idiot just confessed instead…”

Chan didn’t even bother to look over as a smirk curled at his cheek.

“I am sure Hyunjin would get the balls eventually but I wouldn’t wait around.”

“HYUNG!”

Chan’s laughter rung out across the green lawn, bouncing off the sun and making the day just that much brighter.

…

Minho couldn’t help the fact that his mood upturned when the first true hot day of summer arrived. Hyunjin had been poking fun at his pouts while the last of the spring rain washed the earth, but even he couldn’t deny the excitement in the air as the final season of the year came around. In fact Minho suspected the boy might be just as excited as him- he didn’t have to read Hyunjin’s diary again to know whose name would be encircled by hearts. In fact he was a little proud to see how far Hyunjin has come, wearing his heart on his sleeve with pride rather than shame. Minho could have used a bit of the same once upon a time. 

As he boarded the boat again he couldn’t fight the wave of nostalgia if he tried. Each year barring one he had entered this ship, headed to an island to meet his fate. Every emotion had been on his mind- the dread of his childhood, the confusion of adolescence, the excitement of his teens, and now the anticipation of his current state. It wasn’t sweaty palmed hope, but joy like the unfurling of a flower. It blossomed in his gut and spread to his body, a sweetness that kept his lips in a small smile.

The rocking of the waves pushed them forward and he put his hand over Hyunjin’s knee, trying to calm his restless jiggle. They chatted a bit, taking their mind off the long minutes, and before they realized the shore was ahead. Minho gripped the polished wood below him, fingers stroking the slick varnish and digging into every crack. Slowly they pushed onto sand, and Minho and Hyunjin were first off the boat hand in hand. Minho prepared himself for the walk to meet the others, but stopped short when he saw a figure lingering by the tree line. 

There out to meet them was Chan, blond hair waving in the slow breeze and dimple deep as he looked right at Minho. He didn’t bother to quicken his steps, sure that Chan would still be there when he arrived. As he reached out and their warm hands slipped together, Minho felt the world right itself for a minute, all his thoughts quiet and slow. They just stood there for a moment, taking in each other’s rich scent and gentle presence, until Hyunjin cleared his throat from behind. Throwing his head back in a good natured chuckle, Chan grinned at Minho and then pulled them along, walking along the path Minho had always taken alone.

The rest of the day spun like cotton candy, sticky and sweet. The humid air threatened to drown him but Minho was content in its thick grasp, laying in the grass shoulder to shoulder. Jisung and Hyunjin hadn’t looked each other in the eye once since they arrived, and Minho let a small giggle out of his closed mouth thinking about the awkward pair. The sun felt heavy on his skin, sinking in and burning at the tip of his nose. He knew Chan would have more freckles by the time they left, and he was glad to have the chance to kiss each one. 

When they were called to dinner, Chan and Minho strolled calmly back to the main house, their steps almost overlapping they were so close. Dinner was a hearty beef stew and buttery baguette, made all the better by Chan’s palm resting on his thigh. It felt like they couldn’t stop smiling at each other, stupid and young and in love. Minho felt like a fool and he never cared less. No image was worth giving up these quiet moments that he had been deprived of for so long. Not just trying to keep each other up to date, not just telling each other about life, but living with one another and sharing each day.

At night Minho didn’t even bother pretending he was going back to his own room, he knew his father would understand. He had been told a million times how important it was for them to follow the “proper order” of things, and he had sworn he would keep to those boundaries. Both Chan and him were young but they had carried the burden of important duty since they were 3, and they knew what was at risk. Still Minho could understand why their parents were a little wary- they are still teenagers after all.

The dark stone was lit by the lone candle in the room, probably placed there by the maid, and Minho was glad for the gentle lighting. It made it easier to slip out of his daytime clothes unconsciously, both Chan and him getting dressed a respectable distance away. There was a strong breeze from the open window and Minho almost put on his favorite sweater on until he paused. Glancing over to Chan’s luggage he spotted a white pullover and quickly snatched it, acting unbothered as he tugged it over his head. When he looked back Chan was looking particularly pleased, and Minho had to roll his eyes. 

He finished the rest of his routine and then slipped into the silk covers, facing the empty space next to him. Chan tucked himself into the bed slowly, wrapping a lazy arm around Minho’s middle and sharing his breath. There were a million words on Minho’s tongue, a thousand stories to tell and a hundred questions to ask, but in the end he said none. There was time in the coming days to talk about the trials and triumphs of the past year, of the new lullabies he's sung to the kids and the annoying month he had to help Suengmin do everything when the boy broke his arm. 

But tonight was for sharing the stars reflecting in his eyes. Tonight was sharing one beat, tangling together like one being. Tonight was pressed foreheads and gentle lips, devotion as silent as the moonlit night. Tonight was Chan’s tight grip on his waist and electricity up his spine, Minho’s hand grasping at strands of sunlit hair. It was the pressure in his chest and choking on three words, ones that would be shared. But not tonight. Tonight was for reconnection stronger than the voice could carry.

The next morning when he woke up and they were still pressed tightly together, Minho knew he would take these moments as long as he could have them. Once the future had daunted him, his life only a promise someone else made. But now it felt like only fate could have pulled him here, laying in peace while warm and surrounded. The scent of gentle waves had sunk into his skin, and he wasn’t sure if it was Omega instincts or love that had him foolishly hoping it stayed for good. Once they mated it would, their scents always intertwined until one died, but for now he knew it would fade. 

Chan stirred beside him, downturned eyes slitting open. The instant smile that graced his face was enough to calm the beat of Minho’s heart. The morning was already heating up, no doubt the beginnings of a hot day. But Minho’s hand remained stubbornly tangled in the back of Chan’s shirt, unwilling to give up his presence for comfort quite yet. There was something almost mournful in the air, like they both knew this was a single second that would soon slip away, and yet Minho wouldn’t have it any other way. Finally when it became unbearable Minho grumpily shoved Chan, taking out his annoyance on having to move on his fiance. Chan just gave out an obnoxious giggle, good natured as always, and they got up to start their day. 

In the next week they did share those stories, listening to every word. But more importantly they made new memories together. After learning that Chan's favorite dish was pork stir-fry, Minho vowed to teach him how to make it. Chan was impressed by Minho’s skill in the kitchen as he dared to flip their food over an open flame and cut each piece with a swift flash of steel. Gods know Chan could get by but he was no chef, the little skills he had developed was from the desperation of a starved soldier. Well maybe he wasn’t starved, but he did eat burnt liver for a week, and that counts.

Chan could handle the cooking (although the burn on his inner wrist spoke otherwise), but the dancing was a bit beyond him. He knew formal ballroom and a bit of tango, but the fluid and concise steps Minho made while twisting around felt far beyond what his mortal limbs could do. He was content just to watch on in admiration, back against the cool wall and eyes tracking each flick of Minho’s graceful wrist. He looked like freedom incarnated, spinning in the air like each gust of wind was his direction. Even just looking on made Chan feel lighter, like life was just that much easier.

Even the lazy days passed though, slowly but surely. As their time closed Minho felt an unexpected desperation, unwilling to part with Chan for a moment in their last hours. Luckily Chan felt the same, looking at Minho like he would rather never look away. They took a long walk down to the river, at this point practically tradition, and chatted along the journey. They discussed the new politics of the court and the popular marriage of Ann Marie and Lord Bonni, eventually landing on the topic of when it was the best time for a wedding. 

“I’m telling you Chan fall is the time for it, the leaves turn such a pretty color in your nation. Back on our island everything just goes from green to dead.”

Chan chuckled, dodging a branch that came close to his face and leading Minho by the hand around the next bend. 

“But think of spring! The flowers on your island are legendary, all the colors under the sun. We could have pink and purple and red all around us.”

Minho tugged him back for a moment, and Chan paused at the serious look in his eyes. 

“If it's about us then it's no question isn’t it? Despite the aching heat and sweaty palms, it has to be summer. We have always been summer.”

It was said so matter a fact and yet felt so sentimental, and Chan could only smile fondly at his fiance who was crowned by sunlight and sprawling green leaves.

“Yes I suppose summer is where we have always belonged. We fought in the heat, glared against the light, worried in the winter and reunited in the sun. I fell in love with you here in the swelter and burning soil, it's only fitting to fulfill our promise right here where we made it.”

Minho’s grip was tight on his hand, soft fingers clasped on as if to hold itself steady. His auburn eyes were shining, their gleam almost overwhelming. His smile was gentle but his eyes held it all, the answer that didn’t even need to be said. 

“I really wouldn’t want it any other way, Minho. I want the sun to be shining through your hair just like this when fate finally finds us, ready to give destiny a chance.”

When Minho leaned in, the press of their lips felt like a taste of forever. And even long after Chan had left on his journey home, after his scent had faded and the sun had sunk in the sky, Minho touched his lips and knew he had nothing to fear. 


	13. Fate is Calling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are. Last official chapter before the epilogue. This whole thing was one hell of a labour of love and this ending chapter was no different, but I like how it turned out. It feels like an appropriate send off to this pair, and I hope you feel the same way. Anyway just a head up I marked the light smut (all very tame if you ask me but you never know) with the * marker, so if you want to skip feel free. We all know how this story ends, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Thanks for reading!

It was still pitch black when Minho woke, his breath snorting out at the soft knock on the door. The maid spoke to him in a low tone, the crack of light through the entry stinging his eyes. He had 10 minutes before they would begin. At the click of the door he squeezed his dry lids shut. The air was cold enough to spread goosebumps on his arm. He lingered there a moment, still as the moonlight washing over his body. He pulled the blanket up to his shoulders as his torso finally rose, protecting his bare skin from the wind that flew out of the open window. 

He pressed his feet to the cool wood floor with a shiver, and made his way to the tall dresser in the front of the room. His limbs felt brittle, each movement creaking as he pulled a white shirt over his head. He paid the choice no mind, it's not like he would be seen in it for long. Both hands grabbed along the top of the ancient wardrobe until he heard the clack of metal, and then pulled his wire glasses onto his face. They were a recent addition to his routine, and he was surprised at the difference they made. 

Another knock and he opened the door himself this time, a few maids entering with different articles of clothing and flickering lanterns. Items were set on the table and hung on the hook near the bed, the room already feeling full. Minho knew that throughout the next few hours there might be more than a dozen people in here, and he wondered by what miracle they would all fit. The dim light of the candles made the space seem even smaller, imposing stone walls looming in. 

He was glad for the chaos though, it filled up his space and thus his busy mind. It was far too early in the morning to feel so sick, and yet here he was. Was it nerves creeping up his arm? But he felt confident in this decision, if it even was one. In fact this might have been the only permanently fixed moment of his life, the one event he could always count to come. It wasn’t dread though it felt like it. Excitement was much too cheerful, and sorrow too simple to be right. 

Maybe it was just a gasp of breath. The moment when you’ve stepped off but your body is still suspended, the water just about to rush over your head. There was a buzz in the back of his mind, one that was telling the tale of all the unknown. But he would face this part with a smile and a straight spine. He wouldn’t falter just because this was the start of his life, and the end of another one. 

His past self was a brat, churlish and broody and never remembered to count his blessings. But he was free and wild then, honest to the core. Minho loved the truth, he valued the truth, yet now he knew the beauty of a good lie. A lie can be comforting, a lie can be necessary, a lie can become reality if you make it so. 

“Life will always work out for the best, and this will be no exception.” 

He nodded to himself as he thought it out loud, sure as he was of anything that it would be alright. He had promised to take a leap and he already did, this was just the free fall. A simple breakfast of soaked oats and sweet cream was set in front of him, and Minho picked up the spoon as people shifted around behind his chair. He chewed his meal slowly, nobody paying him any mind.

He stood for the first layer of silk as it was wrapped around his body, lace flowers pressing into his skin as sheets of deep wine red glided into place. Pin after pin disappeared into the folds until the garment was taught on his chest and hips before loosening along his calves. He pulled out his chair once more and settled in with his legs crossed at the knee, aware that this was just the first of four sessions. 

A hand touched his shoulder, skin milky white. Minho turned to see emerald eyes and a smile like sunshine that stretched out for miles. The boy looked a lot like his cousin, especially when a small dimple appeared off his broad grin. Minho almost jerked back as his voice finally sounded out, deeper than it had last summer.

“Hello again Minho-sii! I’m happy to be here although I despised the early wake up call. I suppose you know why I’m around right now.”

Minho let out a long sigh and patted the hand where it rested on the wicker chair, voice on the edge of a tease. He could see the boy’s face in the mirror, eyes drooping to the ground like they were carrying around 20 pounds. 

“The crummy timing is traditional Jisung, and you know how much that means around here. And just call me Hyung already there’s no one around who cares.”

The return of Jisung’s smile made the candle light look warmer as it shined off rows of pearly white enamel. Minho couldn’t help but return it, even if it was just the tips of his lips pushing upwards. 

“Ah I suppose you are experiencing our long traditions first hand huh hyung? It's a lot to ask of an Omega bride to wake up before dawn to get all wrapped up in a million pieces of clothing. The Chariu robes will look stunning on you though, all those gems gleaming in the early morning light.”

Minho’s eyes were unfocused in thought as he gazed down at the carved wooden vanity in front of him, his hot breath buzzing past the thin skin of his wrist in even puffs. The room was frigid now, but he valued the sensation knowing soon he wouldn’t be able to even imagine the feel of a chill. 

“Yes it wasn’t my ideal hour to rise either. But a part of me… almost enjoys it? It reminds me of when my family and I would go on trips to the other side of the island, waking before the sunrise for the long day. There is something a little odd in the air before light touches it, something that tastes like the bubbling of potential.” 

Jisung gave a low pitched hum and stepped closer, his small hand coming to rest at the crown of Minho’s head. He grabbed a wooden comb with carved flowers in it and began gently pressing it through the tangled sections of Minho’s morning hair. 

“I can understand that. There is something magical that exists at a time before we can even fully function. It feels like a moment that shouldn’t exist, a pocket of space before time starts to matter. Despite the sleep I’m sorrowfully missing, I am rather glad that it’s custom for a family member to prepare the other spouse. Especially since I’ve watched this thorny love bloom first hand.”

Minho let out a small sound that buzzed like a purr, heavy eyes closing at Jisung’s small tugs and smoothing pats. His mouth stretched into a yawn that made his jaw pop, and he sunk further into the cushion at his back. 

“Well I suppose I’m glad to have you here, although from what I heard Felix would have been lovely to meet if he had been chosen instead. Now tell me, how has Chan been this week? Freaked out or is he playing it cool?”

“Eh I wouldn’t say either really. He’s more just plain distracted. He always seems to have a thought or two somewhere else. Trying to hold a long conversation is a nightmare!”

“Distracted huh? Not really what I expected but I guess it makes sense. He always was a heavy processor. Sometimes I think the inner workings of his mind must look like grinding little gears that get clogged by a speck of dust.”

Jisung let out a bark of laughter at that, wind lightly squeaking out of his nose. He gathered one side of the hair in his grip and then sliced it into 3 parts. His fingers were as thin as the rest of him, all growth and no girth. Minho remembered when Chan and him used to look like that, proportions out of sync and the world moving faster than they’re feet. Jisung’s voice came out like he was singing, each line holding a distinctive tune. 

“‘Give Chan something to think about and he’ll find three more thoughts than he should’ve is what I always say. The man needs to remember that not everything can be figured out in the four corners of his brain.”

Minho’s giggle was like a child's, naughty and sure. 

“He really does believe that he can think his way out of too much, but maybe that’s what makes us a good combination. After all, I couldn't even explain why I act the way _ I _ do, let alone anybody else. ” 

“Ah~ So you think you two make a good match huh?”

Minho’s eyes rolled straight back in his head, he really could be sitting here, about to marry a man, and still get teased for one sappy line couldn’t he?

“Yes, I didn’t realize that would be such a scandal.”

“True Hyung, very true. But it’s just funny when I know how you used to be. Remember when you first met Chan and you just took off in a run, snot dripping and loud wails and all? Chan hyung just stood there stunned for several minutes after you flew out that door, and then burst to tears!”

Minho glanced in the mirror in front of him, watching as his hair was twisted together. His smile bounced back at him, too fond to be his own face. 

“Did he? I never thought about what he did back then. We got in so much trouble didn’t we, bickering over chicken and calling each other stupid as if it was the greatest insult.”

Jisung snorted, not even bothering to look up. 

“So nothing has really changed after all.”

Minho snapped a hand out to give Jisung a push, ignoring the whines and grumbles about “messing it all up” that followed. 

“Well I wouldn’t say nothing. Often it feels like nothing has even stayed the same. Past me is as much of a mystery as future me. My memories are tainted because I know the end of each story. Those days seem so funny now, when I’m sure I felt like they were dreadful then. I think I know who I was and who I will be, but one never really knows anything for certain but now.”

Jisung lifted up a white jasmine flower with petals as thin as frost, tucking them into the bends of the braids. Each one sunk into his dark hair like a lily on the water, floating just above the current. 

“Even if you don’t know it exactly, the past has shaped you surely. I wonder where you will go from today?”

Minho was peculiarly touched by that question, this assumption that he still had more to give to this world that was unexpected. That this wasn't the end- but the beginning. The start of something good. He needed to keep remembering that. 

“I will be a spouse, then a royal figure, then a father, in some order or another. When and what else is in between all that, I don’t know. And isn’t that the best part?”

Jisung held onto his shoulders and leaned over until his chin touched the top of Minho’s head, eyes holding a flair of something bright.

“Well I’m rather hoping you’re excited for it all, I know I am. It’s been a long time coming Minho, but today fate has found you.”

Minho placed his own graceful fingers on top of Jisung’s, gold rings of all sizes glittering as he tightened his hold. His chin was lifted and his spine straight, eyes a firm line. For a second his breath caught right in his chest. The image of a king, a lover, a father meeting his eye in his reflection. 

“Fate may have guided my life, but I am the one who builds my own path. And today I will step forward on my own two feet.”

They both simmered in the silence that followed, sharing a look that told a whole story. 

A yell from behind let them know it was time for another layer, and they fell into the bustle once more, moment passing on as they all eventually would. 

…

The wide field was barely lit, the many guests shifting in their coats to ward off the freeze of the morning fog. The whole stretch from the three story house to the first line of trees was hung with red lanterns, curling designs of gold pressed into the thin paper. If one squinted they looked like extra stars, now fading from the newborn sky. Long benches covered the frosted grass with a slice right down the middle. 

A podium rested at the end of the strip on a small platform, covered in silks of white and deep blue flowing like a waterfall from the center. There was a little chatter in the air but most people saved their warm breath for themselves, everyone occasionally glancing at the horizon. Just beyond the treetops, something was beginning to stir. 

The sky had begun to warm, purples and blacks turning to reds and oranges in the vast space above. Chan watched as the water reflected the colors back into his face, his shadow stretching out long behind him. The whole sea looked like a warbling mirror, shifts of new colors on the surface every time he looked. He knew he would have to leave in a second, his time here all the more precious for it. 

The preparation had been a rapid current, carrying him away on its bustling back. It had been one task after another, as simply as washing his face and as complex as working out how to get Hyunjin to stop sobbing. What a sentimental boy, crying on someone else's wedding day. And yet Chan empathized with him now, as he watched the beginning of his last day of summer on this island. 

Chan had pushed for the wedding to be here against all protests (and bribes) from his frantic mother, but they would take a boat headed for Duralin as soon as the sun set. It seemed cruel to rush the freshly married couple, but some battles cannot be fought, and tradition called for the claiming bite to be on Duralin soil. He was looking forward to seeing Minho try to maneuver all the layers of his robes while walking up the boarding plank. He’s sure there will be a few choice swear words and a punishing grip on his hand as it happens. 

He saw a man approach him with intention out of his periphery, and he turned around to give a nod. It was time to walk on. He made his way up the winding path back to the house, approaching alone along the gritty path. Birds had begun the first of their calls, life springing up to answer the sun’s warmth. The new activity in the air gave him pause, and he took a moment to take it all in. The forest was the same green it's always been, the babble of the water behind him the same usual sound. 

It wasn’t special because it was different, but because it was so achingly familiar. He could almost imagine the screams and yells of children in the distance. The beat of his and Hyunjin’s swords as they practice, the scratch against the paper as he traced the outline of Minho’s sloped nose, the biting words and soft spoken whispers. This place held it all. And now it would give him one more memory, a slice of the immortal. 

He took one more step, then another, and disappeared around the corner.

…

The music was playing, violins swaying through the air and piano notes strumming the ground. It was a waltz to the end, a march to the start. Minho knew Seungmin himself was on the bench pressing those keys, he had been slaving over this piece for months. Minho would have been more touched at the effort if he wasn’t whining to Minho about the difficult tempo changes every second along the way. 

Minho ran his hands along his shoulders, feeling the way each embroidered pattern and delicate gemstone caught his fingers. His last layer was a sheer lace cape that cascaded from his shoulders into a trail that dragged on for far too long. Thread crawled up the bottom in the shape of vines, and bloomed into flowers with a cluster of opals at their center. Along the hemline was gold trim, the whole thing sparkling in the little peak of sunlight. 

And it was that light that let him know it was time to go. His father took his arm with a proud smile, and the tempo picked up speed. Just like they planned, Minho gently strolled on the thin cloth put over the trail, emerging from the tree line like a spirit of the forest to face the main event. The dark mahogany trunks and flush of tender green leaves made his waves of crimson and delicate white look all the more ethereal, the whole gathering of people hushed except for the notes floating in the air. 

But Minho’s mind was loud, the blood pulsing in his ear like the beat of a drum. His sandaled feet moved forward how he did not know, pure adrenaline pushing him on. He clenched his hands tight to hide the telling tremor, and focused only on the next small step. The light finally peaked fully over the horizon, piercing through and warming the top of his head.

One more step, just one more step, all he had to do was keep going One. More. Step.

And then they stopped. 

He felt his father squeeze his hand but he couldn’t even look, his mind blank where chaos had reigned before. One long pale hand came into view, a gust of warm sea breeze with it. Minho didn’t hesitate to take it. As he stepped up and settled in as the music faded out and the long droll of word began. 

Minho couldn’t hear it, couldn’t look up and see it all- not if he wanted to keep going. He focused only on his own breathing, a deep take in of the morning dew and a shaky gust out into the air. A squeeze came to his hand and Minho tried to conceal his jolt, snapping out of his dense fog. Suddenly the words became crystal clear, hitting like the fire of a nerve. 

“So now I ask you two, who fate has so thoroughly intertwined, to say your own vows before we give the final confirmation. Crown prince if you may start.”

Minho finally looked at his betrothed, and it felt like the heat of summer. Chan was clad in a dark silk robe that tied at the waist with a red band, and his jade eyes were rimmed with kohl. But his face oh, it was just the same. The same little whiny boy full of bitter jabs, the same angsty teen with too many zits on his forehead, the same young man with tired eyes and a belly full of laughter. Now here he was, a grown man with a mouth pulled up in a delicate smile and watery eyes full of love. 

“I have really only one thing to ask, something I will always need to hear. Will you hold my heart Lee Minho? Will you stay by my side long past the time I can give you anything of note? Will you trust me enough to be mine?” 

Chan's voice was rough with emotion, and those familiar words hit Minho’s gut like a shot. He squeezed his lashes tight, and counted to ten. He prayed it would be enough to keep his voice from a crack. 

“Yes.”

It was barely above a whisper, but Minho knew the only person that needed to had heard it. Chan’s smile felt like a lighthouse, guiding him back to earth for long enough to speak his own words. 

“Bang Chan, I ask you only one thing as well, a question which I have to know. Will you never let me go?” 

It was simple but it was honest. He doesn’t expect Chan to love him every moment, to hold him like he’s the last thing on this earth, to never mess things up. What he expects is that he will come back, time and time again, through arguments and frustrations and losses that will never return. That it will be Chan and him against each turn that life will give them, now and for forever. 

“I will.”

The world narrowed as the pronouncement continued, and for all the hear they were declared married. Chan’s hands grasped the veil like it was made of fine tissue, pulling it over Minho’s face and slowly leaning in. Their lips met in the middle, a cacophony behind them but only silence in Minho’s mind. The world had never tasted sweeter than here resting on his lips.

…

The boat ride back was peaceful, the lap of the waves on the side of the ship the only sound in the night. Chan was entranced by the steady rhythm and the warmth beside him, fingers twisting with the heavy gold ring on his hand. Minho’s eyes were closed and his head was fully buried in Chan’s shoulder, cheeks a little flushed from the aged rum that had been in their cider. He must have been exhausted, Chan doesn't think he saw him leave the dance floor all day.

Their boat slowed to a crawl, and a low scratch filled the air. When the bow rested fully on the shore, Chan gently prodded at Minho’s hair, snaking an arm behind his back and helping him fully stand. Most of Minho’s weight still rested against him as they left the boat’s cabin, the pair shuffling more than walking down the long plank. They reached the sand and Minho took his first step on to Duralin soil. More of a stumble actually, but Chan would take it. 

They reached the castle with little fanfare, the staff and townspeople aware that their time to celebrate would come tomorrow. When the sun rises they would string the lanterns across the roads, and perform the songs for a national welcome, greeting the fated pair that they had waited for for so long. But that was for the next day, in the chilled night there was no one but a few scatter guards and the newlyweds traversing the narrow path home. 

By the time they reached their new quarters Minho was looking more awake, even pushing the doors open himself. The room was wide, although not as big as Chan’s father had wanted it to be. Chan preferred something more cozy, hence the large fireplace and the small nook for reading by the large pane of window. The moonlight was bright enough to give the room dimension, its pale rays highlighting the maroon bed in the center of it all. 

*

Minho sat down on the edge of their plush comforter as the air grew heavy. It wasn’t awkward per say, or even electric, it was simply weighted in the way the end of the road often was. Chan moved to come down beside him, a little aways so he didn’t wrinkle one of Minho’s many silken layers. Minho’s eyes moved up towards his own, their edges turned up in a graceful flick. Chan thought of a million words to say, a thousand ways to put them together, and he spoke none of it.

The hour for long speeches and sweet words were over, all the promises they needed to make already sworn on. In the end there was really only one thing Chan needed to ask, his voice rising from his throat past the lump there. 

“May I?”

Minho’s lips pulled into a shallow grin, just enough to show he meant it, and nodded. He held his arms open like a welcome, and Chan gladly fell into their hold. Minho’s head was pretty against the pillows, a gold crown of leaves still glimmering in his dark waves of hair. Chen gently pulled the circlet out, and kissed his exposed forehead. He undid each pin with no hurry in his hands, pulling the layers apart like they were the gift itself rather than the wrapping of a present. He shucked off his own robes with much less care, earning him the cluck of a tongue in gentle reprimand. 

They lay there for a while just pressed into each other’s skin, a mix of sharp citrus and storm filling the air. He felt a small nibble on his neck and Chan had to chuckle, Minho’s ways of approaching him were always unusual. He pressed a hot palm to Minho’s cheek and melted their lips together. Minho’s nails were sharp along his side, digging in just under his ribs. Normally it would feel uncomfortable, but now it just pushed him onwards, a thin trail of spit running down his chin. He tangled their legs until he slotted a thigh in between Minho’s own, and felt his breath start to pant. 

Chan reached around and slid a finger in, resistance minimal as he worked his way within. Minho was starting to utter small noises and Chan grew more feverish, desire tingling up his spine. When he finally pushed himself inside, Chan never took his eyes off Minho’s bitten red lips and long lashes lining his fluttering lids. Each shift grew in intensity, Minho’s hands moving up his shoulders and gripping on to the strand of his hair. At the moment of peak Chan bowed down, his mouth watering and eyes narrowed slits. He sunk his teeth into the soft nap of Minho’s neck, a deep sense of satisfaction sinking into his stomach. Minho gave a cry that bounced off each wall, both of their muscles straining as their whole body tensed. When it was over they melted into the pillows, mind and body blank with exhaustion.

*

When Chan woke the next morning they wore still tangled together, limbs weaving in and out of one another. The sunlight left Minho looking even prettier, golden light just right for the boy made of summer. A lazy hand swatted at his shoulder, retaliation for disturbing the other. Chan giggled knowing that he must sound like a love sick fool, not even blinking while looking at his grumpy husband’s scrunched face. 

But then the violins of the parade outside started up just as Minho opened his eyes and smiled, and Chan knew that what he held here was more than worth it. 

It was fate. 


End file.
